


A Melody That's Calling Your Name

by gleesquid



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor blackmailing, Musicals, Pining, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleesquid/pseuds/gleesquid
Summary: When a boy gets trapped in the Baxter Building fire, Peter must make a quick choice: let the boy die terrified in the flames or gain his trust by showing him what's underneath his mask. In the end, it's no choice at all.But when that same boy shows up on the first day of senior year, Peter finds himself caught in a spiraling lie. The next thing he knows, he's got a boyfriend, he's starring in a musical, he's going to rich kids' costume parties, and he's realizing that maybe there are worse things than having someone know your biggest secret.You'd think high school couldn't get any weirder than a radioactive spider bite, but that's just the Parker Luck.





	A Melody That's Calling Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Big Bang! Did anyone ask for a Spideytorch story that also contains a full production of Grease? Probably not, but if anyone did -- this is for you, bub!
> 
> Thank you so much to my amazing artists for working on this fic. You're absolute legends and I'm so happy I got to work with you.
> 
> Please go look at the absolutely beautiful and charming art over on [johnny-storms-hair's blog](http://johnny-storms-hair.tumblr.com/post/180348112969/heres-my-contribution-to-gleesquidss-super-cute)
> 
> Mimi also has absolutely BEAUTIFUL art over on her [blog](http://artofmimi.tumblr.com/post/180439188089/my-entries-for-the-spideytorch-big-bang-this-is) so please please go take a look at that! 
> 
> Once again, thank you both SO much for participating and thank you to Traincat for organizing the Big Bang, the greatest time of the year!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Note: Gwen's speech at the end is taken from The Amazing Spider-Man 2.

The Baxter Building was on fire and no one was going inside.

“Hey, uh, hey guys,” said Peter, standing with the firemen (and women, shit, get it together, Pete) as they stood outside Baxter Building, spraying it with water and loading people whose skin was coated with ash into ambulances. “Why’s no one going in to that building that’s on fire?” 

“We got out everyone we can,” said a fireman -- woman? No, it was definitely a dude -- maybe -- as he stood with a hose, “but the foundation’s too weak, now, we’ll collapse the building.” 

Peter craned his neck to see the flames licking the stars. It was pretty contained, but that didn’t mean it was small. 

“Someone help!” a woman yelled. Peter whipped his head around to see a young woman with soot-stained hair straining against two men and evidently giving them a workout. Tears streamed down the ashes on her cheeks. “I have to go up there, please, get off me!” 

“Suzie --,” said one of the men. 

“My brother’s up there!” the woman yelled. “Please, he’s seventeen, please . . .” 

Well, that did it, Peter supposed. He just needed the excuse. 

Peter ran over to a firetruck and propelled himself inside, ignoring the protests of the firefighters below him. He rifled around until he found one of those breathing apparatus things the other guys were using.

“I’ll just, uh, be borrowing this,” he said, strapping it to his back. And when he climbed out, his webs were already flying. 

The firefighters might bring the whole thing down, but Peter had always been light on his feet. 

He climbed up the side of the building, so quick he couldn’t feel the heat or let his weight settle. He reached a window near the top but still seemed safe and punched his way through. The floor under his feet felt weak, but he could move if he went fast enough. 

He shot webbing at the door and pulled it right off its hinges. Running into the hallway, smoke accosted his airway and he strapped the breathing apparatus to his face as he moved. Ripped off a door and moved into a new hallway. It was clogged with smoke. He breathed slow and walked quick. 

“Help . . . please . . .”

Peter didn’t bother with web as he kicked down the nearest door. The smoke here was so thick, Peter could barely see. But he heard the whisper. 

Peter crouched to the floor and crawled along it, all his weight on his fingers and toes. There, up ahead, curled under a desk . . . was a boy. 

“Hey,” Peter said, but his voice was distorted by the oxygen mask. The guy looked up, slow and drowsy. His eyes were too red but they widened at the sight of Peter. He pushed himself further into the desk. 

Peter reached out a hand and the guy squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to wake himself up. The building creaked. They didn’t have time for this. Peter took a deep breath and held the air in his lungs. He ripped the oxygen mask off and then, with only a moment’s hesitation, his  _ mask  _ mask. 

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. His lips parted.

_ It’s okay,  _ Peter mouthed.  _ Come with me.  _

The boy nodded and allowed Peter to fasten the oxygen mask around his head. He took a deep breath and gripped Peter’s shoulders with an unexpected strength as Peter hauled him into his arms. 

“That’s it,” Peter whispered. “Easy does it, honey.” 

The boy looked into his unmasked face. His eyes reflected fire.

And Peter threw their bodies, wrapped around each other like the smoke wrapped around them, out the window.

* * *

 “Senior year, bitches!” yelled Mary Jane as she ran down the school’s front steps. 

“Here we go,” said Gwen. “Welcome to the Mary Jane show.” 

“Must she be so  _ loud _ ?” whined Harry, his dark sunglasses glinting in the sun. 

Peter caught Mary Jane as she flew off the steps. He spun her around while scarlet hair whipped the air behind her. 

“You act like you don’t live right next to each other,” said Gwen. She blew a kiss to Sally Avril as she passed by. 

“But I was in Pennsylvania all summer. Talk about snoozeville.” Mary Jane extracted herself from Peter’s arms to wink at Gwen. “Tell me you didn’t miss me, Gwendolyne.” 

“Ugh, come here,” said Gwen and she pulled Mary Jane into a hug. 

“Girls are so weird,” Harry said. He perked up. “Hey, have you guys seen Liz Allan?” 

“It’s literally the first day of school, so no,” said Gwen. “Why?” 

Peter cracked a smile. “Harry and Liz had a  _ thing  _ this summer.” 

“Tell me more, tell me more,” said Mary Jane. She locked her fingers with Gwen’s and led them back up the stairs and into Midtown High. “Did you get very far?”

“Her dad decided she should get a job to learn responsibility. And I got a job to see if my dad would notice, which he didn’t.” 

“What must that be like, getting a job for attention and not for survival?” asked Mary Jane. “To live in your shoes, Harold, if only for a day.”

“Shush, it’s storytime. So we both got jobs at the movie theater and we started talking and it was beautiful. Like, we totally connected. I talked about my dad and she’s got this brother -- it was amazing. I think I’m in love with her.” 

Harry thought he was in love with Gwen just last year. He still flopped back and forth on MJ every other week. Peter was pretty sure Harry had been in love with him at one point, but he tried not to think about it. 

“Liz Allan is the type of girl who dates guys like Flash Thompson,” said Gwen. “And you’re the type of guy who marries a supermodel after you come into your inheritance in thirty years.” 

Harry made a face. 

“Speak of the devil,” said MJ as they approached her locker. Liz Allan and Flash Thompson were melded together in a mess of hands and tongues and fair hair. “Overcompensation, much?” 

Gwen Stacy hated seeing any sort of injustice against her friends. When any sort of injustice against her friends occurred, she had a fondness for making irrational and sometimes violent decisions. Peter could see it coming from the moment the PDA was spotted across the hall. From the moment Harry’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“You horny assholes!” said Gwen, and she slammed a flat hand into the lockers by their locked heads. 

Flash and Liz jumped and stumbled away. 

“What’s up, losers?” Flash asked. But he was blushing. The red in his cheeks brought out the red in his hair. It was easy to forget he was a ginger when he carrying the mostly average Midtown High football team to championships every year.

“I would tell you to put your dick in your pants, but I can’t actually see anything that small,” said Gwen. 

“A pleasure as always, Gwen!” chirped Liz and she led Flash away from the lockers. 

Mary Jane patted Gwen on the cheek and moved in to unlock her locker. 

Peter turned to Harry, who was rubbing at his eye under his sunglasses. He didn’t want to think that Harry deserved it because he didn’t, but also . . . what did he expect, giving his heart away to every pretty thing that was nice to him? 

Oh yes, Peter thought, watching Mary Jane toss her hair as she laughed at Gwen’s snark. Better to be caught between the same two pretty things for the entirety of your life. 

They agreed to meet up at lunch (like it even needed to be said). Peter had World Lit -- with MJ, thank god -- and they made their way to the class. 

“I can’t wait for you to join drama club this year,” said Mary Jane as they settled into desks. “We’re doing  _ Grease _ . I’m directing, which is a shame, I know, depriving an audience of my talent, but it’s my senior project. Gwen’s got me all freaked out about college.” 

“On the list of clubs I might join this year, drama goes right under fashion,” said Peter. 

“Then we must have a pretty good chance.” She scanned the room and waved at Liz, who sat in the back row because she liked to pretend she wasn’t smart even though stupid people hardly already had dogeared pages of their copy of Beowulf sitting on their desk. Liz waved back because she and Mary Jane were actually very good friends when she wasn’t blocking Mary Jane’s locker with truly heinous public displays of affection. “Remember I took art class with you sophomore year. You were obsessed with wrestling uniforms.” 

Peter side-eyed her. “You know Aunt May. She loves her wrestling.”

Mrs. Winterhalter greeted the students and immediately launched into her lecture like it hadn’t been summer break yesterday. Peter’s eyes drifted to the window and he imagined school was over already and he was in the air, bathed in sun. 

The door opened and Mrs. Winterhalter faltered, but he didn’t turn. Danger senses meant only paying attention if you needed to. 

“Sorry I’m late,” said a voice. “I was just --” 

“I don’t need you excuses, Mr. . . . Storm, is it?” 

“Johnny’s fine.” 

“Please take a seat, Mr. Storm. This class won’t teach itself.” 

The class tittered and Peter finally looked up -- only to freeze. He had seen that guy before, at the front of the class with the shiny hair and the killer cheekbones. He’d only been at the whole saving the world thing for a couple years, maybe, and he was already beginning to forget the faces of everyone he’d ever saved. But that face. How could he forget that face? 

For one thing, that face knew this face. 

“MJ,” Peter whispered. “MJ, give me your jacket.” 

“Leave me alone, you weirdo.” 

Peter reached over to try and pry Mary Jane’s jacket from her body and she shrieked and fell out of her chair. 

Mrs. Winterhalter and Johnny Storm looked straight at them. Peter dropped his head to his desk. 

“Sorry,” said MJ in her best theatrical voice. “My friend Peter is prone to sudden and violent outbursts. You can take the desk behind him.” 

“Do I have to?” asked Johnny. 

Evidently, Johnny did, because Peter heard the chair creak. 

“I have a friend who’s prone to sudden and violent outbursts,” whispered Johnny. “I can recommend you his therapist.” 

Peter wondered if he could spend the rest of this year pretending to sleep through this class or if he’d get expelled first.

* * *

One could summarize first day of high school like this: already feeling like you had lived three lifetimes by the time you reached lunch. Peter was exhausted. He’d kept his head down the entire morning just in case he saw Johnny Storm again and that weird Russian kid Dmitri Whatever sat next to him in Spanish and then MJ sent him five texts about drama club and Peter was pretty sure she was just gearing up. 

“Hi, Peter,” said a girl in a purple sweater and a brown ponytail. 

“Hi,” said Peter with a smile. He turned to Betty as she walked away. “Do I know her?” 

“Oh my god, seriously?” said Betty. “You really don’t remember?” 

Betty was a little bit older, due to missing a year of school for some family emergency, and she worked as the secretary at the Bugle. She was also super hot in a future president of the United States kind of way. Peter almost hooked up with her junior year. It was awesome. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Betty asked. 

“Huh?” Peter tried to distinguish things real time Betty had said from the dirty nothings Betty had whispered in his ear that September evening after he’d walked her home. He never really talked to Ned Leeds after the fact, but the rumor was that he’d flown off the handle and transferred to some elite boarding school in Germany. He’d never tell Betty, but good riddance. That guy always gave him the creeps. “Oh, yeah, totally.” 

They entered the caf and Betty left to go have lunch with the journalism club, which was full of girls Peter had almost hooked up with (he worked at the Daily Bugle -- it was bound to happen). This was why Gwen called him a manwhore. Which was super offensive, probably, but he didn’t feel that offended.

Peter went to the table where MJ, Gwen, and Harry were sitting. The table they’d secured was a bit closer to the trash than last year, which meant a worse dining experience but quicker exit time. 

“Demon begone,” said Mary Jane, holding up her fingers in a cross sign as he sat next to her. 

“Jews are immune to exorcisms,” said Peter. He ripped open the apple sauce with his teeth. 

“You’re disgusting,” said Gwen, popping an earphone out of her ear. “And MJ told us about your freakout in Lit. Care to share why you’re suddenly so interested in knockoff Chanel hoodies?” 

“Don’t get fresh,” said Mary Jane around her straw. 

“Haven’t you heard?” asked Peter. “Fashion is my passion.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes and put her earphone back. 

“What’re you listening to?” asked Harry, who had evidently gone too long without attention. It was a daddy issues thing (if Peter had grown up with Norman Osborn, he’d have some issues too). 

“My first day of school playlist.” 

Mary Jane snatched Gwen’s phone. “‘Shake It Off.’ There’s Basic White Girl and then there’s you.” 

“Like  _ Hamilton _ isn’t your ringtone.” 

“ _ Hamilton’s  _ only basic if you’re white. My people deserve to reclaim the American narrative.” 

Peter could feel a Gwen vs. MJ debate coming on, the kind where Gwen made really good points and MJ talked in circles until Gwen would rather stab herself in the eye with a spork than keep discussing this. His eyes drifted just in time to see Wyatt Wingfoot walking into the caf. Wyatt transferred from Oklahoma last year and he was over six feet of Native American angel, looking less like he belonged in high school and more like he belonged in the NFL or on a runway. And next to him -- 

“Shit,” said Peter. “Shit shit shit.”

“What the hell?” asked Mary Jane as Peter buried his face in her shoulder. “Seriously, are you sick? Is it contagious?” 

Peter lifted his head to see Gwen, too clever for her own good, watching Johnny and Wyatt walk away from them. 

“Who’d you pick a fight with? Wyatt Beefcake or the pretty new boy?” 

Mary Jane and Harry both gasped and craned their necks to watch Johnny and Wyatt get in the lunch line. 

“It was pretty new boy!” crowed Mary Jane. “That’s why he freaked out in class!” 

“Oh, Peter, he’s  _ new.  _ What did you do to him?” 

“Nothing,” said Peter. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“Probably made him cry,” said Harry. “Just like that new kid in eighth grade.” 

“You were the new kid in eighth grade.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I _ said _ I was sorry for that.” 

“Did you, Pete? Did you?” 

“If you made him cry, I will murder you,” cut in Gwen. “I heard his house burned down.” 

Peter cleared his throat. “I didn’t make him cry. I . . .” They were all watching him expectantly. Like he was gonna say he beat him up or something. Like he was the kinda guy who went around mugging innocent pretty boys whose houses burned down. “We hooked up at a party over the summer.” 

The words did not seem to register immediately. Gwen blinked in rapid succession. Mary Jane took a long drink of her soda. Harry tilted his sunglasses to the tip of his nose. And then -- 

“ _ You  _ hooked up with  _ him _ ?” asked Gwen. 

“You went to a party?” demanded MJ. 

“You hooked up with a guy who isn’t me?” said Harry. They stared at him. “I mean, you hooked up with a guy?” 

“Uh, yes?” said Peter squinting in case anyone decided to shine a lamp into his face for this interrogation. 

“You’re the most heterosexual guy I know,” Gwen said. “I had to give you my trig notes because you were too busy staring at Felicia Hardy’s boobs all class.” 

“They are pretty amazing,” said a voice over Peter’s shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

While Peter appreciated his spidey senses for the most part, they lacked a certain nuance. For instance, they would warn Peter if someone was sneaking up behind him with a knife. However, they would not warn him if Felicia Hardy was behind him despite the fact that her very existence was a knife. She was the only person in the world who could make a pink shirt that said FERGALICIOUS across the chest look dangerous and sexy. No one knew what her real hair color was. No one was stupid enough to ask. 

“Who’s threatening Peter’s heterosexuality?” asked Felicia. She draped her arms over his shoulders and dragged her fingers down his chest, which had about ten thousand worms squirming inside. “Does it need a knight in shining armor to come running to its defense?” 

While hooking up with Felicia Hardy was far from Peter’s worst nightmare, he needed at least another week before he could even think about going there. 

“My heterosexuality is perfectly intact, thank you,” said Peter. “It just suffered a minor lapse.” 

“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Mary Jane, swinging her legs around the bench. She took Felicia’s hand and led her out of the caf. “Under the bleachers.” 

Peter, Gwen, and Harry watched them go. 

“Between the three of you, you must have had every STD in the book,” said Gwen, glowering. Peter always felt like she would actually really like Felicia if most of their interactions didn’t involve either Peter or MJ’s tongue down her throat. “Whatever. I don’t even care anymore. See you guys later.” 

Gwen leaned over the table and kissed Peter right on the lips. It was the kind of kiss Peter imagined crocodiles liked to doll out right before they ate you whole. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, fixed her headphones, and left the caf to the beat of whatever Taylor Swift song was playing now.

“Welcome back, Midtown High,” said Harry. “It’s a new year and we’re already going on another round of the Peter, Gwen, and MJ circus. With special appearances by yours truly, a Fergalicious juvenile delinquent, and a cute new boy who lost his home in a fire.” 

At the mention of the cute new boy, all thoughts of Gwen’s crocodile kisses and Felicia and MJ’s bleacher canoodling vanished. 

“Harry,” Peter said. “That whole thing about me hooking up with the new kid? That’s gotta stay a secret, okay, man?” 

“Of course.” Harry smiled beatifically and straightened his sunglasses, which, okay, they were gonna have to talk about this whole sunglasses inside thing he was going for. “No one will ever know a thing.”

* * *

By the end of the week, everyone knew Peter Parker and the new kid had hooked up. 

Peter could only assume the new kid himself didn’t know because his only friend so far seemed to be Wyatt Wingfoot and Wyatt was about as far from the gossip ladder as you could get. Farther from the gossip ladder than Peter, who at least hung out with resident gossip hounds MJ and Harry. Wyatt was the kind of guy who probably thought gossip was beneath him. 

But Peter knew people who thought gossip was beneath them. He counted himself among them. And it always found a way to get to you eventually. 

So the only answer was to avoid Johnny Storm for the rest of his life. 

It was pretty easy once he got Betty Brant, who worked in the school office (hardest working woman this side of the Hudson) to tell him what classes they shared and he started skipping them. But then Gwen found out and she told MJ and avoiding class became significantly more difficult. 

“You can’t skip classes a week into school,” Gwen said, sitting on the edge of bed. “Your aunt will kill you.” 

“Then I won’t ever have to go back,” said Peter wisely. “Doing us all a favor really.” 

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” said Mary Jane as she spun around in his desk chair. “What happened? You came in your pants? He didn’t call you after?” 

Peter sat straighter. “Ha. No. We went all night. He was incredibly satisfied, sexually. And he laughed at all my jokes. He probably hasn’t been able to stop thinking about me.” 

“Then what are you afraid of?” asked Mary Jane. 

He looked from her smug face to Gwen, who couldn’t hold back a smirk, and realized he’d backed himself into a corner with this one.

* * *

“So good of you to join us,” said the new PE teacher. Her name was Sue (Coach Sue) and she was a total babe, way better than the old guy who smelled like bologna who Gwen got fired last year (she said she had nothing to do with it, but it sure was interesting that he “quit” the week after he told Gwen she ran like a girl). Peter had never seen Mary Jane so interested in exercise. “I was worried I’d have to make a call.”

“I’ve been sick,” said Peter, as his eyes roamed the gym. No sign of Johnny. Maybe Betty made a mistake? “Spanish influenza.”

He coughed. Coach Sue arched an eyebrow. 

“There haven’t been any recorded accounts of the Spanish flu since 1920.” 

“Anyone who knows that is overqualified for this job.” 

“You’re telling me, kid. Alright everyone, five laps.”

“God, can you believe the jocks get out of this?” asked Harry as they started jogging around the perimeter of the gym. “Can’t we move outside?” 

“You just want an excuse to ogle Liz Allan in her cheer uniform,” said Gwen, jogging past them. Peter and Harry exchanged looks. Having classes with Gwen always sounded more fun than it was. 

As they rounded the basketball hoop, Peter caught sight of the gym doors opening and a shiny blond head walking in. 

“Shit, shit, fuck.” Peter whipped Harry around to shield him with a little too much force. 

“Ow, what the hell -- you been working out, dude?” 

“It’s him,” hissed Peter. “The guy, the guy --” 

“The guy you fucked?” Harry asked and it was one of those moments, when someone says something a little too loud and everything else in the world has decided to go remarkably quiet. In these moments, a pin dropping could be heard throughout the northern hemisphere probably and everyone in the gym could definitely hear a teenage boy yelling about the guy Peter Parker fucked. 

Johnny Storm was talking to Coach Sue and they turned to look and Peter threw his arms up to cover his face. “Pete --,” said Harry at the same time as a shock ran through his body and he looked up to see he was running right at the basketball hoop. He could have dodged it, of course, he could have flipped himself over it but everyone was looking and -- 

“Ow,” he moaned, on his back, trying not to drown in the blood spurting out of his nose and down his throat. Everyone was still looking at him and he heard a few giggles.

Secret identities were so fucking stupid. 

But, he considered, as he sat up to see Johnny Storm on the other end of the gym, staring at him with wide eyes and long fingers covering his lips, it was better than the alternative. 

Coach Sue crouched over him, concern written in the lines of her face. It was only then that he realized -- she was from the fire, too. Johnny’s sister. 

“Maybe you really are sick,” she said, and allowed Harry to walk him to the wellness center.

* * *

Peter sat on the cot, pinching his nose with a kleenex. It had stopped bleeding already, but the nurse said the damage should take at least another ten minutes to heal and Harry was still there, and he didn’t want him getting suspicious of his fast healing. He could try to make the nurse make him leave, but no one ever cared when Harry skipped class to hang out in the wellness center or get high under the bleachers. Guess that’s what happens when your dad donates a hundred microscopes to the school. 

“Was it really that bad?” Peter asked, voice nasally from the kleenex.

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry. “You looked like a total loser. How’d you not see that, man?” 

Peter shrugged. “Guess I was distracted.” 

“Oh, suuure.” Harry grabbed a cherry lollipop from the bedside table and unwrapped it. “If that’s what we’re calling it these days.”

Harry held out the lollipop for Peter, who lowered his kleenex to give it a lick. Peter expected Harry to let him keep it, but Harry popped it out of his mouth and stuck it in his own. Peter made a face. 

“Get off your high horse, Parker,” said Harry. “I’m not the one who sucked some guy’s dick after knowing him for two minutes just ‘cause he fluttered his ridiculously long eyelashes at me. He could’ve had a disease.” 

“He doesn’t,” said Peter, though he supposed he was making assumptions. “And I didn’t suck anyone’s dick.” 

“Bad time?” 

Peter straightened and dropped his tissue. In the doorway stood Johnny Storm. 

He was . . . well, if Peter had to have the whole school believing that he had hooked up with a guy, he was glad it was this one. He was gorgeous, like, girl gorgeous, with swoopy hair and sparkly eyes and Harry was right about the lashes. He was probably about Peter’s height, but he looked taller (all legs). And he was looking at Peter with this strange mix of shyness and admiration and Peter remembered, abruptly, that Johnny  _ knew.  _ He’d seen his face. Peter had shown Johnny his face. 

“Hey there, pal,” said Peter, like he was goddamn Mickey Mouse. 

Johnny’s lips quirked up.

“Well,” said Harry, “guess I should let you two catch up. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

He stuck his lollipop in his mouth, saluted them, and beelined for the exit. When he was gone, Johnny approached the bed. Peter didn’t want to look at him, but he found he couldn’t look away. Johnny was studying his face like he had a test on Peter’s eyebrows in twenty, and Peter was letting him look, knowing he was seeing him. Seeing everything. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Johnny asked. A smile tugged at his lips, uncontrolled. “You’re the Spider --,” 

In an instant, Peter slammed him against the wall. There was barely a hair’s width between them. Peter felt no warmth on his face -- Johnny was holding his breath. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” whispered Peter. “I wear a mask for a reason. Got it?” 

Johnny’s lips moved without sound and Peter shook him, not hard, but enough to send a message. “Tell me you got it.” 

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Johnny. “You -- you saved my life -- I wouldn’t --”

“Hey!” shouted the nurse. “I won’t have any of that in here. You boys gets back to class.” 

Peter stepped away from Johnny, giving him a meaningful look. When he left the wellness center, Johnny followed. 

“I’m serious,” said Johnny, trotting after Peter. “Thank you.” 

Peter waved it away. “It’s what I do, literally, every day.” 

“Yeah, but you still --,” 

“Look.” Peter spun on Johnny, causing him to stumble backward. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. I don’t want anyone connecting me to the Baxter Building fire.” 

Johnny huffed. “Don’t you think you’re being kinda paranoid?” 

“Having guys dressed up like rhinos and scorpions and grizzly bears trying to murder you all the time does that to a person.” 

“Fine,” said Johnny, crossing his arms, “I won’t mention it as long as you tell me one last thing.” 

Peter fumed. Who did this guy think he was, making demands of him? 

“What,” said Peter and a mischievous smile spread across Johnny’s face. 

“Who was the guy you fucked?”

* * *

The weekend was welcome after what had to have been the most hectic school week of Peter’s life (though this may have been an exaggeration, since in sophomore year, Peter both acquired super powers and lost his uncle). He saved a couple cats, stopped a robbery, and beat the crap out of some guy who tried to assault a college student. It was awesome. 

He did his homework. Well, he did his math and science homework. Reading one hundred pages for lit and history each was some kind of bullshit and he supposed he’d just bluff his way through any pop quizzes.

Sunday evening Aunt May rented  _ Rent  _ (ha) on DVD (the Broadway recording, thanks, not the movie because she’s not an ANIMAL) and Mary Jane and her aunt came over to watch it and Peter might have thought these songs were kind of cool the first time he heard them but then he had to listen to Gwen and MJ rehearse “Take Me or Leave Me” for the freshman year talent show. Every rehearsal ended with a screaming match and either Gwen or MJ texting him that night to ask if the other was still mad. 

Also that guy singing at his dead lover’s funeral kind of . . . sucked emotionally. It made him think too much. He could hear Aunt May sniffling behind him. 

“Stop the movie,” he said.

“I’m  _ fine _ , you worry wart,” Aunt May said, lacing her fingers through his hair. He sat on the floor with MJ curled up beside him, a bucket of popcorn in her lap. “It’s a beautiful scene is all.” 

_ “When you’re worn out and tired,”  _ the man on screen belted. “ _ When your heart has expired _ !” 

Peter averted his eyes. 

“You good?” asked MJ. 

“Fine,” said Peter. “Gotta pee.” 

“I swear I raised the boy with manners,” he heard Aunt May saying as he went up the stairs. 

In his room, he sat on his bed and didn’t look at the polaroid he kept in his bedside drawer, the one where he’s six and asleep in Uncle Ben’s lap, because he wasn’t that fucking pathetic.

“Knock knock.” 

“I’m peeing,” said Peter. 

“So am I,” said Mary Jane and came to sit with him on his bed. 

They sat in silence for a moment. People who didn’t know Mary Jane (and even people who did) thought she always needed to be the center of attention and a lot of the time, they were right. But what people didn’t know was that Mary Jane was very good at becoming whoever you needed her to be. If you needed the drama and the laughs, she’d give it to you. If you needed the quiet, she’d give you that too. 

“It just sucks, you know?” said Peter. 

Mary Jane rested her thumb in the crease of his elbow. “I know.” 

“Also that play is stupid.” 

“Shut your stupid asshole, Peter Parker.” 

“How am I supposed to shut my --,” 

A pillow hit Peter in the face and he fell back in laughter. 

Mary Jane leaned over him, bright hair cascading and shadowing her dark skin. He knew where this was going and he wanted it to go there. 

“Had any good talks with Felicia, lately?” Peter asked. 

Mary Jane arched an eyebrow. “Have you and your boy toy?” 

Something must have shown on Peter’s face -- MJ gasped and sat up. “No no no,” said Peter, attempting to drag her back down, but she refused to be enticed. 

“What did you say? C’mon, Pete, give me the deets!” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Nothing. We just talked.” 

“With your  _ tongues _ ?” 

“I’d like to do some tongue-talking with you --”

“Our aunts are downstairs watching a wholesome American musical,” said Mary Jane, squirming away from his tickling fingers. “Pull yourself together, Tiger.” 

“When did you become so boring?” Peter huffed and immediately felt a twinge of regret. He sounded like a cad, whining about a girl not wanting to make out with him. If Gwen were here, she’d slap him. 

But Mary Jane didn’t even answer, listening to the distant proclamations of Mark and Roger that they didn’t own emotion. Peter pushed himself to his knees and slotted against her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder. They were puzzle pieces, if puzzle pieces that were a little bent and worn. The important part was they still fit and they still made something good. 

“Sorry I didn’t tell you. About Johnny. If that’s what you’re pissed about.” 

“Great apology.” Mary Jane tilted her head to the side, exposing the length of her neck. Peter nipped at the tendon. “Harry told me Gwen kissed you.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” 

Mary Jane slipped out of his arms like water. When she turned on him, she was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Break her heart and I’ll cut you,” she said. “This game’s complicated enough without one more secret added to the mix.” 

She gave him a hard stare before turning and stalking away. 

God. Peter would never understand women.

* * *

Peter Parker knew he was not living an average life. He knew that most people his age spent their evenings doing homework and not flying (swinging, technically) above the city and that most people had living parents or at least parents they could remember and most people didn’t cause their uncles’ deaths. But Peter had long accepted his Parker luck, and he knew that keeping suspicion on the low down meant being just . . . a normal guy. Normal friends. Normal girlfriends (for the most part, ha ha, don’t ever tell them he said that). Normal life, honest, if you subtracted all the spidery bits of it. And he was good with that. He had dealt with too much crazy for twelve lifetimes. 

It had already been a rather unnormal start to the school year, and he was ready to get back to the usual routine. Hanging out with Harry. Trading barbs with Flash Thompson. Using History to study for Bio. Making out with Gwen or MJ or Felicia Hardy (or watching them make out! -- yikes, that’s another thing you probably shouldn’t tell them). Normal high school stuff. 

So Peter was totally unprepared when Johnny Storm sat on his lap in the caf at lunch a few weeks into the school year and kissed him full on the mouth. 

It was . . . well, for a moment it was pretty disorienting. His eyes were wide open and he was focused on Johnny’s eyelashes and a freckle he had on his brow line and Johnny’s lips. And he could see Harry and MJ over Johnny’s shoulder and MJ just sort of kept hitting Harry’s arm. 

And Johnny was so . . . insistent. And not exactly bad at this. He kissed like he had kissed people before. Peter had also kissed people before so he would know. And he just kept going. Just going to town on Peter. So Peter closed his eyes and he kissed back. And it was good. Like really good. 

And . . . wow, okay. Like _ really _ good. Every part of Peter could feel it. Little Peter was especially interested in how good of a kiss it was. 

This sure was a development. Gwen once told him that he would kiss any pretty thing who giggled in his direction (“Are you slut-shaming me?” Peter asked and watched her turn purple), but he had definitely not seen this coming. 

Clearing his throat, Peter detached his face from Johnny’s. Johnny stared at him with a flirty smile and something strange in his eyes. 

“Hey, babe,” said Johnny. 

“Uh . . . hi,” said Peter. “We have rules against PDA rules at this school.” 

“No one enforces them though,” said MJ. “By all means, carry on.” 

“Maybe we should get out of here then.” Johnny nuzzled again Peter’s jawbone. He felt hot, hot, hot  all over.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.” 

Johnny got up off him (and finally Little Peter had some room to breathe) and held out his hand. Peter took it because. What the hell. They walked out of the caf and Peter could feel everyone’s eyes on him. It was a strange thing for everyone to stare at Peter Parker when he wasn’t wearing a mask. 

They walked down the empty halls and Peter realized they were headed towards the library. He wondered if they were actually going to keep making out because who goes to the library to read? Gwen Stacy, of course, but she’s a bit of a freak. 

They held hands the entire way. Peter felt like he had walked into someone else’s life. 

Johnny guided him into the library and immediately down an empty aisle. Only then did he release Peter’s hand.

“I know this looks bad,” said Johnny. 

“Are we in the Twilight Zone?” asked Peter. “Beam me up, Scotty, because I don’t know what the hell’s going on down here.” 

“Okay, that’s  _ Star Trek,  _ but listen --,”

“I just made out with the PE teacher’s little brother in the caf. I’m gonna fail PE. PE! I can lift a truck!” 

“If anything, you’ll be failed for skipping the first week of school.” 

“Am I being blackmailed? You know my secret identity and now I have to be your  _ sex slave _ ?” 

“Oh yeah, you hated it so much. I was sitting in your lap, remember.” 

“Watch it, buster.”

“Hear me out,” said Johnny and he took Peter’s hands. And Peter could have pulled away, of course he could have, but he didn’t. He just let Johnny take his damn hands and hold them and he didn’t pull away at all. “I need you to be my boyfriend. My fake boyfriend.” 

Peter gasped, throwing a delicate hand against his chest. “I cannot be bought, sir.” He thought about it. “Unless you are offering cash, then we’ll talk.”

“History lesson about me: I’ve been homeschooled for the last few years, ever since moving in with my sister and her boyfriend, Reed Richards. We lived in the Baxter Building. Maybe you remember it. Big fire. No longer with us. Rest in peace.” 

Peter’s mind was officially blown. “Your sister is dating  _ Dr. _ Reed Richards? Damn. I don’t even know who’s hitting out of their league.”

“Both of them,” said Johnny. “Mostly Sue, but Reed’s nice and rich.”

“If he’s so rich, what are you guys doing at a public high school?” 

“At Baxter, Sue taught super smart kids -- not me, Reed got me my own tutor, but six-year-old super geniuses and whatnot. The school’s kind of on hold because of the whole fire thing and Reed offered to just, you know, get us a place but Sue’s old-fashioned and insists on working.” He rolled his eyes. “And I guess she thought maybe Reed was spoiling me. As if. It’s hard to get that guy to talk to you most days.” 

“Johnny, this is all super fascinating and I would love to hear more about it, but what does this have to do with you frenching me in the caf?” 

Johnny took a breath and there was a hint of a blush along his cheeks. It made him look young. 

“What I’m trying to say is, it’s been a long time since I went to a regular school, you know? And in middle school, I wasn’t exactly . . . popular. I was actually kinda picked on.” 

“But you’re so . . .” He searched for the word. There were many. “Blond.” 

Johnny’s blush deepened. “Trust me, I was a towhead with braces and acne in eighth grade.” 

“Fake boyfriend, Johnny. How did we get from A to Z?” 

“Transferring to a new school in your senior year is social suicide. I know. I watched every eighties teen movie before I came here. But you know who is respected in high school hierarchies?” 

Peter stared at him. 

“People with boyfriends!” said Johnny, nearly bouncing with his own excitement. 

Peter couldn’t help cracking a smile, especially when a librarian poked her head around the corner to glare at them. 

“No funny business,” she hissed. 

Johnny jumped. “Oh, um, no, I’m just researching some --” He grabbed a book at random and flashed the cover. “Infamous arsonists.” 

“Big paper coming up,” Peter said. “He just loves arson.” 

The librarian repeated, “No funny business,” and left them. 

Johnny shoved the book back where it belonged. “You’re the only person I know besides Wyatt Wingfoot. And while Wyatt is gorgeous, he’s stupid honest.” 

“And you think I’m a liar?” 

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Touche,” Peter said. 

“Who knows,” said Johnny, “maybe we’ll drive Wyatt mad with jealousy and he’ll fall in love with me and you’ll be off the hook.” 

“Do you  _ want  _ Wingfoot to fall in love you?” 

The pinkness of Johnny’s cheeks, beginning to fade, deepened again. He was such an easy blusher, it was kinda funny. 

“Oh, is that how it is?” asked Peter, leaning back against the bookshelf behind him. It didn’t rock. He was pretty light on his feet when he wanted to be. “We’ve moved from me helping you get popular to me helping you get some. What am I getting?” 

“You’re selfless when you wear tights and that’s it?” 

“A guy can only shoulder so much great responsibility.” 

“Big talk from the man who’s greatest secret I happen to know.” 

“So I am being blackmailed.” 

Johnny huffed and a piece of hair falling out of his coif ruffled. Peter’s fingers twitched. “No, I’m not -- look, I told you I wouldn’t tell and I won’t. But I’m not the only one who could use some help in the romance department.” 

“Ha. What? No. How would you -- You stalking me now? What.”  

Johnny sighed and the hair fluttered again. Peter shook out his hand. 

“Growing up with a sister means I’m good at spotting girl drama, and yours can be seen from space. Love triangle?” 

“Sort of. One girl would rather hook up with the campus delinquent in bathroom stalls and the other kissed me but also seems really mad at me.” He stared miserably into the void. “My love triangles have love triangles.” 

“That’s it then.” Johnny stepped forward, an excited smile on his face. “You date me and they’ll come running back. Girls love gay guys.” 

“No comprende.” 

“Trust me. Nothing made Dorrie Evans from that SoHo all girls’ boarding school want me more than when she thought something was going on between me and the guy I was street racing every week. I mean, she was right, but still. I know women.”

Peter smirked. “Sounds like it.” 

“Hey. You scratch my back I scratch yours, yeah?” 

“Who do you think you are, the Godfather? Am I Pacino?”

“How’s that movie end?” 

“Pacino carries the film and Brando still gets the Oscar.” 

Johnny beamed. “Then you’re all Pacino, baby.” 

“You’re so weird,” said Peter. “You’re the kind of weird I don’t need in my life. I need the opposite of you in my life. A nice, quiet boy to make an honest man out of me, who wants to settle down in the countryside, that’s what I need.” 

“You fly all over New York fighting bad guys.” 

“Swing, technically.” 

“Stop acting like you hate fun.” 

“It’s part of my charm.” 

“Are you in?” 

“On one condition.” Peter gave into the urge to fix Johnny’s hair, tucking the strand back into his coif. It wouldn’t seemed to stay and Peter wondered if, under all that product, Johnny’s hair was a little bit wild. “You don’t fall in love with me.” 

Johnny grinned so hard it was as if the sun had been sucked from the rest of New York to come visit this aisle of the Midtown High Library. 

“Deal,” Johnny promised. “Have you seen how you dress?” 

Peter let the weird strand of hair curl into Johnny’s eye. He laughed, a joyous laugh, full of something Peter couldn’t place, and slipped from the book shelves. What a weird guy, Peter thought. Weirder than Harry probably. Which was saying something. But maybe Peter had been wrong about it being the kind of weirdness Peter didn’t need. Maybe it was exactly the kind of weirdness Peter needed. Something that wasn’t Peter Parker’s or Spider-Man’s. Something that belonged to both of them. Something that was new.

“Hey,” Peter called, jumping after him much to the librarian’s distress. “What’s wrong with how I dress?”

* * *

When Peter got home, he found Mary Jane already on his bed, painting her nails a deep read that matched her hair (“It’s natural,” she always said. Peter sputtered, “But . . . I mean, you’re . . .” Mary Jane raised an eyebrow and that was the end of it). 

“Yeezus,” he said, throwing his backpack to the side. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some privacy in Forest Hills?” 

“Die probably,” said MJ. “Took you long enough to get here.” 

He’d seen some punk pickpocket an old lady on the way home. He could have let it go, probably, She wouldn’t have even noticed for ages. 

“Took the scenic route. I’m a romantic like that.” 

“Gwen cried today because of you,” Mary Jane said matter-of-factly. She blew on the nails of her right hand. 

“This is the second time you’re in my bedroom, talking about Gwen. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” 

“She thought you were on again.”

“Quit with the drama MJ.” Peter threw himself down onto the bed next to her. The nail polish teetered but he expertly caught it. “Gwen wouldn’t have given a shit if I gave her a lap dance in the middle of math class.” 

“She’s not as big an ice queen as you and Harry think. She’s sensitive.” 

“Gwen Stacy could eat my heart with a smile. Besides, she’s never gotten jealous of you and you’re basically my soulmate.” 

Peter uncapped the nail polish and began to drip the color onto MJ’s unpainted nails. He made a heart on her thumb, a smiley face on her ring finger. Mary Jane reached up with a free hand to pull the chain dangling from the ceiling. The door shut, the window shutters closed, and the light switched off. Above their heads, glow in the dark stars that Peter had stuck to the roof from his uncle’s shoulders when he was ten shone. 

For a couple months after Uncle Ben died, Peter hadn’t been able to sleep with the lights off. 

“You’re a genius, Peter Parker,” Mary Jane said. “But you’re also very stupid.” 

Peter capped the nail polish and turned on his side to watch her silhouette, lit only by the cheap stars and the faint glow of daylight beyond the window shutters. It was them in the beginning, even when it was just him. Mary Jane next door even when he didn’t even know her. And it would be them, when Gwen and Harry with their brains and their money, were at fancy schools in Europe or where the hell ever. Peter was too attached to the three of them probably, but Mary Jane was the only one he knew he had forever.

He wanted to kiss her, but then he thought about Johnny, and he didn’t. 

The doorbell rang. Peter lifted up onto his knees and cracked open the shutters to get a look at the street below. He could see a golden head and a collared shirt. 

“Holy shit,” he said, and bounded off the bed. 

Sliding down the bannister, he yelled, “I’ve got it!” But he was too late. Aunt May was already opening the door and Johnny Storm was standing in the doorway, old lady-charming smile on his face and a potted plant in his hands. 

“Hi,” said Johnny. “You must be Peter’s aunt.” 

Stalker. Peter definitely did not remember talking about Aunt May, but he knew it was one of the few pieces of information he had available on Facebook, which Johnny had demanded he have access to given that they were sort of a couple now. Peter told him they couldn’t become Facebook official yet because he didn’t want anyone he knew (Aunt May) to find out from Facebook that he was dating a -- Johnny. 

“Yes, I am,” said Aunt May. Peter could only watch from the bottom step like it was some sort of train collision and in a way, he supposed it was. “And you are . . .?” 

“Johnny Storm. I’m Peter’s -- well, I mean, I’m like Peter’s --,” 

Peter could hear Mary Jane’s footsteps on the stairs behind him and he acted on instinct. 

“Boyfriend,” said Peter. Aunt May whipped around to stare at him. “This is Johnny, my boyfriend.” 

He heard Mary Jane still.

“Your --,” said Aunt May. “I didn’t know you were dating a --,” Peter waited as she searched for the word. “Johnny.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of new. Sometimes you’re not dating a Johnny and then one comes along and sweeps you off your feet. You comin’ in?” 

Johnny held out the potted plant for Aunt May. She took it -- and, without an ounce of hesitancy, drew Johnny into her arms. Peter watched Johnny blinking rapidly while Aunt May hugged him with her whole heart and, jeez louise, Peter loved her. 

“That’s very sweet of you, honey,” said Aunt May, taking the plant into the kitchen. “Can I make you kids a snack? Don’t answer that, I’ve got some leftover cookie dough in the fridge --, ” 

“Your aunt is so nice,” said Johnny. He waved over Peter’s shoulder. “Mary Jane, right? We have a couple classes together.” 

“Um, yeah,” said Mary Jane, walking down to stand next to Peter. “Hey.” 

“You’re so pretty,” Johnny said, smiling up at her. “I love your hair. You should be a model.” 

Oh, god, he sure was laying it on thick. But it was working -- Mary Jane, cool and collected, no lover’s fool, was fluttering her eyelashes and twirling her hair and positively preening. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.” 

“And your bag!” Johnny came up a step to tug on the strap of Mary Jane’s messenger bag. The bag was littered with buttons and patches that Peter never bothered to pay attention to. But now that Johnny had pointed it out, Peter noticed that they all seemed to be memorabilia for musicals and shit:  _ Wicked _ ,  _ Hamilton _ ,  _ Rent _ , _ Jersey Boys _ (yuck -- who’d write a musical about Jersey?). “Have you seen all of those?” 

“God no, I wish,” said Mary Jane with a self-conscious little laugh. What the hell was going on. “Do you like theater?” 

“You’re looking at the Tin Man in my sixth grade production of  _ Wizard of Oz _ .” 

“You sing?” 

“Little bit. Mostly I’m just cute.” Johnny winked and Mary Jane giggled and Peter thought he might as well intercept before they started dry-humping in front of him. 

“Let’s go to my room. You coming, MJ?” 

“No, I should -- I should go. Bye, Johnny.” 

“Bye, Mary Jane.” 

“Bye to you too, best friend and neighbor!” Peter yelled as she let herself out and just caught her middle finger before the door shut. 

“We’ll be in my room, Aunt May!” Peter called and rolled his eyes when she called back, “Door open!” 

“Why isn’t MJ your girlfriend?” asked Johnny as they came into Peter’s room. “She’s such a babe  _ and  _ she’s super nice.” 

“You just think that because you’ve never talked to her before her morning coffee.” 

Peter watched Johnny look around the room, see it with new eyes. It was a mess of gizmos he built and empty bags of chips, dirty laundry and haphazard stacks of photos. He never really cared that much about the mess, not even when Gwen came over (she judged him for a lot, but never this), and Johnny Storm suddenly looked pristine amongst the trash. And because he never knew how to be careful around anything good and beautiful, Peter asked,”So what’s the deal? You act gay and get all the girls to lower their guard?” 

Johnny’s shoulders stiffened and he pulled a face like he wanted to make a joke but couldn’t find the punchline. “You think I came off too gay?” 

“No, you were just -- I don’t know why I said that.” 

Johnny sat in Peter’s desk chair softly. Afraid to break something, maybe. The chair was already broken, so he didn’t need to worry. He pulled at his cuticle and then glanced up. 

“There’s not a lot of acting going on, Peter,” said Johnny. “I just am what I am. If that makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this.” 

God, Peter was a douchebag. He wished Gwen were here to slap him before he said stupid things. 

“That wasn’t -- I was just being -- Look, I’m --,”  _ Sorry, so sorry, get used to the mess because it’s all I have.  _ “The last few years have all been an act due to, well, you know. Maybe I just expect it from others at this point. You’re no problem” 

“Okay. Sure.” He seemed to relax, if only a little. “Um, do you think we could go over the plan?” 

“The plan for the fake dating?” 

“Duh, Peter. The _ plan _ .” 

“Who needs a plan?” 

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you don’t go fighting bad guys with a plan?” 

“Hey, keep your voice down.” Peter shot a look at the open door and Johnny mimed zipping his lips shut. “Okay, the plan, carry on.” 

Johnny straightened up, eyes alight. It was kinda cute and Peter scowled to balance it out. Too much cuteness in his room would screw with the Wi-Fi. 

“Starting tomorrow we’re a couple. We’ll eat lunch together, with Wyatt too, since he’s my friend. I’ll come to your table. You’ve already got a group. That’ll be good for my image. And you’ll walk me to class, carry my books --,” 

“What am I, your nanny?” 

“You carried me out of a burning building, you’ll live. You should probably come over to my place once in a while, so you can meet my family. And I think we should have a public kiss once a week.” Peter arched a brow, but Johnny gave him no room to comment. “We met at a party right, that’s what you told your friends?” 

“Yup.” 

“Good, we met at a party Reed was throwing. Like, a science party. That way it’ll make sense for us to both be there because, no offense, but no way would you and I have gone to the same parties.” 

“Offense taken, but go on.” 

“You were deathly insecure since I’m so much prettier than you, but we met up again, got dinner at that Italian place around the corner, and now we’re practically married. I like your deep brown eyes and the way you hold me when I’m sad, you love my legs and sense of humor. Got it?” 

Peter leaned back on his bed, arms behind his head. “Oh, is that all? No contract signed in blood?” 

Johnny smiled, a little sheepish. “I’ve had a lot of time to plan. Ever since the fire, I don’t do much sleeping.” 

“Hm.” Peter eyed him up and down. “Well, if we’re gonna really sell this, we should probably practice.” 

“Huh?” 

“Plans are for morons, but practice makes perfect.” He patted the spot next to him on the bed. “C’mere.” 

Johnny seemed a little suspicious, but he made his way over to the bed. He sat next to Peter, stiff. 

“Hey, relax. How many boyfriends have you even had?” 

“Oh, tons. Hundreds. At least. Possibly thousands.” 

Peter grinned. “And I haven’t had any, unless you count Harry, which I don’t. You’re way ahead of me, man. So don’t freak out.” 

Johnny glared at him and the way his mouth twisted made it seem like his face wasn’t meant to frown. Uncle Ben used to beg Peter to smile more when he was a boy. Too serious. Too locked up in that head of his. Laugh a little, kid, the world isn’t ending tomorrow. 

“I was the one who sat on your lap,” said Johnny. “I’m not shy.” 

Peter wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and pulled him closer. He could feel Johnny make the choice to relax the tension in his muscles. He rubbed his thumb against the dip between his shoulder blades. His nose touched Johnny’s and Johnny breathed in sharply.

“This doesn’t count towards once a week kisses,” whispered Johnny. 

“Just practice,” Peter agreed, and kissed him, soft and chaste, on the lips. 

“Cookies are -- oh!” 

Peter and Johnny sprung apart. Aunt May stood in the doorway with a plate of cookies in one hand and her other hand covering her eyes.

“Aunt May, it was just a kiss, the door’s open, c’mon --,” 

“Maybe you should eat these downstairs,” said Aunt May, not even peeking through her fingers. 

“Don’t be so dramatic --,” 

That got Aunt May to look at him, but it wasn’t a nice look; Peter was lucky she didn’t throw the cookies, plate and all, at his head. 

“Don’t you tell me what I’m being, Peter Parker. You are not the only person living here, this is a family house and a part time Airbnb, not a brothel, so you can march downstairs and eat these cookies or you can sit up here while I eat them all with your lovely boyfriend as we watch wrestling matches and gossip about you. It’s your choice.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Peter and Aunt May turned on her heel, but not before shoving a cookie in her mouth for good measure. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“I’m leaving you for her,” Johnny said and it would’ve made Uncle Ben proud to see how hard Peter laughed.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Johnny asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he stared up at the school building. “You really don’t have to. It’s kind of a lot to ask, isn’t it?” 

Peter turned to look at him. “Now he asks my opinion on the blackmail.” 

“It wasn’t blackmail!” 

“Hey, I’ve made my peace. You get popularity and studs wrapped around your strangely well-manicured finger, I get popularity and my girl friends to become my girlfriends. I think. I’m still a little confused as to what I’m getting out of this not blackmail plan.” 

Johnny chewed on his lip in a way that Peter found a bit too distracting. “We don’t have to do this, honest.” 

“I don’t know if you know who I am, but helping the less fortunate is sort of what I do.” He leaned back to peer at him. “Unless you’re scared . . .” 

“I’m not scared,” Johnny huffed and punched Peter in the shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be scared.” 

Peter swung an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and pulled him snug against him. They fit like Jenga. Maybe it was all that practice. 

“Then let’s crush this, babe.” 

Freshman year, Harry Osborn got obsessed with trashy teen movies. Every time he came over to Peter’s (and he always only came over to Peter’s, despite Peter really wanting to stay in a penthouse), they would watch his new favorite trashy teen movie of the week. Every trashy teen movie was the same shit with different faces -- and there was always a scene where the hero walked down a hallway in slow mo while some sort of 80s rock played in the background. Everyone would turn to look at the kid as he became Cool. 

Peter might have been living that scene now in the trashy teen movie of his life. As he and Johnny walked down the hallway, students turned to stare. They were interested in him -- in Peter Parker and the charming new boy whose building burned down. He’d never felt cool before, not unless he was swinging over the city or beating up a bad guy. And he was okay with that, okay with being overshadowed by MJ’s talent and Gwen’s brains and Harry’s money, he didn’t want people prying into his life anyway. But now, as he walked down this never-ending hallway with his arm slung over Johnny Storm’s shoulders, he felt really, really  _ cool _ . And judging by the coy smile Johnny cast him, Johnny felt pretty cool, too. 

What was that song Harry loved? About blessing the rains down in Africa? A kinda weird choice for this scene, probably, but whatever. He was in too deep to be picky.

Peter stopped in the hallway and spun Johnny around to meet him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Flash Thompson and Liz Allan by the drinking fountain. Betty Brant with Joy and Glory from the journalism club, probably already constructing a story. Felicia Hardy leaning against a set of lockers, arms crossed and brows raised like a dare. 

He cradled Johnny’s head and kissed him in front of everyone, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, smile to heartstopping smile.

Cue the 80s music.

* * *

Peter and Johnny had broken off from each others’ hips and mouths to get their stuff from their lockers. He moved fast, feeling a little bit like the Rhino was going to close in on him any minute. Except instead of the Rhino, it was Harry, MJ, and Gwen’s incessant nosiness. The locker door next to him slammed open and he jumped -- but it was only Flash Thompson. Which was hardly better. But any homophobic bullshit Flash had to say to him, he could take it. 

Flash went about getting his books without a word, but he was practically vibrating. Peter figured he’d put both of them out of their misery. 

“Something to say, Thompson?” 

“Nah,” said Flash, but evidently he had something to say, since he continued, “You dating that new kid or what?” 

“We’re dating all right.” 

“Well, I just -- I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.” 

“Care to enlighten me on what sort of thing I’m into?” 

Peter wasn’t looking at Flash, but he could hear the bolts and gears of his brain grinding. 

“Guys, I guess.” 

“Sorry, Flash, baby, didn’t know you and I were the sort of people who told each other all our sexual proclivities.” 

Peter looked around the door of his locker to see Flash, staring intensely into his own locker. His hand flexed around a textbook. They never had classes together -- Peter was strictly AP and Flash played sports, which was like AP gym, so that was out of the running too. 

“We’re not,” said Flash. 

“Good then. Have a nice life.” 

Peter spotted Johnny making his way down the hallway and waved him over. Flash shoved his books in his bag. 

“Hi, babe, hi, Flash,” Johnny said with a dazzling smile. 

Flash slammed his locker shut and stormed away with nothing but a gruff, “Hey.” 

“He’s usually so nice,” said Johnny. He pecked Peter on the cheek. “Must be you.” 

“Story of my life. Need something?” 

“You agreed to carry my books for me.” 

“Under duress maybe.” 

“I also have something for you, for your locker.” Johnny pulled out his wallet, and out of that he pulled a photo. It was of Johnny staring alluringly at the camera. He wore a bright blue button down in front of a black background and it made his eyes pop. 

“This your rejected headshot or something?” 

“Shut up, I look hot.”

Johnny used the magnet that was holding up a corner of a photo of Gwen and MJ at Halloween (dressed like the pink and yellow Power Rangers) to attach his own photo. 

“Now you’ll always be thinking of me,” said Johnny with an excited bounce.

“Believe me, I think of you enough already,” said Peter and he took Johnny’s books.

* * *

 

Peter and Johnny took their seats in World Lit. MJ was already seated and she watched them with an expression somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. 

“That was some show you two put on,” she said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Before she could explain exactly what she was talking about, Sally Avril said, “Hi, Peter! Hi, Johnny!” 

Sally Avril was a cute girl with a great body due to gymnastics or something, and she was Flash and Liz’s friend. She hadn’t once spoken to Peter except in 2nd grade to ask him to pass the glue stick. 

MJ became very interested in her phone. She’d never admit to girl hate, but Peter didn’t think she cared for Sally ever since sophomore year when Gwen and MJ decided they weren’t friends for about a month and Sally was featured heavily on Gwen’s Snapchat. 

Peter felt Johnny kick him in the heel and realized Sally was still just standing there, expectant.

“Oh, uh, hey, Sally,” Peter said. “How’s it going?” 

“I think what you’re doing is so brave,” Sally said, earnest as apple pie. 

Peter’s heart sped. Did she know about Spider-Man? And was she really bringing it up  _ here,  _ in front of everyone?

“Uh, I don’t really . . .”

“I know it’s not easy to be gay, even now, and think that it was so cool of you to kiss your boyfriend. I mean, I always thought you were kinda cute but that was just amazing.” 

Peter gaped at Sally. Was she for real? He glanced at Johnny, who smirked like,  _ told you. _

“Well, thanks,” said Peter. He smiled a bit. “I always thought you were kinda cute too.”

Sally flushed. “If you ever need someone to shop with, call me,” she said and took out a pen to write her digits on the palm of Peter’s hand. 

“Are you serious?” Mary Jan e asked as Sally sat down. Peter shrugged and thought that maybe Johnny knew what he was talking about after all.

* * *

 

People kept saying hi to Peter (well, mostly girls, but he was more than okay with that). They kept congratulating him and Johnny like they’d done something much greater than make out in a school hallway, which plenty of couples had done before them. It was awesome and freaky all at once. 

“Am I a genius or am I a genius?” Johnny whispered to him and Peter had to give him this one. 

“It’s like they’ve never met a gay person,” Gwen said at lunch. “And also like they’re hoping to convert you two back to the straight side of the road.” 

Peter and Johnny exchanged glances. 

It was their first time trying to make the new lunch table work and it was going okay . . . mostly. Wyatt Wingfoot took up far mar room than Peter would have thought due to the sheer breadth of him. He kept trying to politely ask Peter and Johnny how they met, but kept being cut short by MJ asking, “How tall are you exactly?” or Harry saying, “And how much can you lift?” And when he’d answer, they would bend their heads together to compare notes. 

Peter could tell Gwen kept trying to subtly ask about the Baxter Building without reminding Johnny of any unresolved fire-related trauma. She’d ask, “So where are you from?” and “Where in Manhattan?” and “Is your sister seeing anyone?” and, “So what’s  _ he  _ do?” God. She probably had Reed Richards’ pin up poster on her wall.

Johnny kept leaning into Wyatt and for some reason it made Peter wonder if the Sandman was doing anything heinous right now and if he could use a good punch in the face.

All in all, Peter thought things were going well. 

“How many openly gay people are there at this school?” Harry asked. He ticked them off on his fingers. “MJ. Felicia Hardy.” 

“I’m bi,” said MJ. “And Felicia’s horny.” 

“Aren’t we all,” said Johnny. He and MJ clinked cafeteria-bought apple juices.

“There was that kid from last year,” said Gwen. “I think he ended up transferring to that private school, Xavier’s, after he stole a teacher’s car. Daken?” 

“And  _ he  _ was a sociopath,” Harry agreed. “The people probably like having two gay guys to rally around who they don’t think will slit their throats.”

“The age old question of junior year,” Mary Jane said wisely. “Am I homophobic for not wanting to be alone in the bathroom with Daken Akihiro?” 

“It’s like his eyes were little tractor beams,” Harry said, staring off into space. “You knew they were dangerous but you couldn’t pull away.” 

“Sounds sexy,” Johnny said. 

Peter quirked an eyebrow and Johnny kissed his cheek. “Not as sexy as you, babe.” 

The outcry of playful disgust from the table made Peter laugh. He felt light, inside out.

* * *

 

Of course he still had gym the next day. With Coach Sue.

“She probably hasn’t even heard yet,” Johnny said over Skype that night. He held up two short-sleeved button downs. “Blue or black?” 

“You completely underestimate the power of the school’s gossip wheel. My geometry teacher last year was extra nice to me for two weeks because she thought Harry and I broken up after he yelled at me for getting chili on his Gucci handbag. Blue.” 

Johnny pulled his tank top over his head. Peter didn’t look away. 

“Look, I know my sister,” said Johnny as he slipped on the blue shirt. He did the buttons up to his collar. “She’s the coolest person in the world.” He squinted at the screen, then undid some buttons so the skin of his collarbone showed. “You’re right. I’m so getting a B on the presentation tomorrow.” 

“Way to aim high,” said Peter. He found himself wondering if Johnny was going to change again. 

As if he could hear his thoughts, Johnny slowly began to unbutton the shirt. His hand stilled at his naval.

“Hey, you wanna watch a movie? _ Lord of the Rings  _ is on Netflix.” 

Peter thought that he should go out for a swing, probably. New York never slept and neither did its crime. But he felt unable to tear his eyes away from Johnny’s long fingers fiddling with a button. 

“Sure,” he said. “Hey, if Coach Sue dismembers me tomorrow, I’m blaming you.” 

Beaming, Johnny finished with the buttons. Shirt hanging open, lean body on display for Peter and Peter’s empty bedroom, he said, “I think Aragorn made me gay.”

* * *

 

Peter and Johnny left the locker room together, but they didn’t hold hands. Better not risk it. 

When they walked into the gym, Sue was nowhere to be seen. It made Peter nervous like when Kraven the Hunter went too long without posting a vlog.

Gwen and Harry were stretching together and now they were both wearing sunglasses inside. Peter hoped this wasn’t going to become a thing. It was not cool at all. 

“Nice shades,” said Johnny, approaching them. 

“Thanks,” said Gwen, who at least had the self-respect to push them up onto her forehead. “They’re Chanel. Harry got, like, twenty free pairs after he posted a pic of his Chanel wallet and their stock went through the roof. Now he’s giving them out like candy.” 

Peter saw Randy Robertson, Glory Grant, and Lance Bannon all wearing sunglasses as well. 

“Wow” Johnny said. “I’d love a pair.” 

“That’s nice,” said Harry as he dove into a toe touch. 

Peter kicked his shoe. “Don’t a bitch to my boyfriend.” 

Mary Jane appeared at his shoulder, her own pair of designer sunglasses tucked into her gym shirt collar. “Harry’s just pissed because he thought Liz was waving to him earlier but she was actually waving at Sally Avril. Also, Pete, c’mon, don’t use gendered slurs.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. He’d heard Mary Jane call people bitches dozens of times and he was sure her decision to suddenly take a stand on this particular issue had  _ nothing  _ to do with the look of pure admiration on Gwen’s face. 

“Oh, hey, Coach Sue wants to see you guys in her office,” MJ added. She smirked. “Good luck.” 

“Couldn’t have led with that?” asked Peter. But he and Johnny made their way to the coaches’ office in the sideroom of the gym. 

“Johnny, Peter, hey, come in,” said Sue when she saw them. She looked as lovely as ever in her gym shorts and Midtown t-shirt, hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Another thing not to tell Gwen or MJ: Peter didn’t think he’d seen anyone, except maybe his aunt, make beauty so effortless. 

Johnny strolled into the office with confidence but Peter hung back. The office decor was mostly generic with school banners and football trophies and news clippings of Flash Thompson. But there were a few framed photos Sue must have brought (saved?): Sue and Johnny as kids, Sue kissing Dr. Reed Richards, Johnny piggy-backing on some big, good-looking guy with baby blue eyes. Peter’s felt warm and cold at once.

“I heard that you guys were together,” said Sue and Peter’s eyes snapped back to her, “and I just wanted to let you know that you have my full support. I know it’s probably weird to be dating your teacher’s brother, but I promise that nothing will be weird on my end. It won’t affect how I treat you as students at all, got it?” 

“And you were nervous,” said Johnny to Peter with a brilliant grin. He hugged his sister and she held him like he was breakable. Peter suddenly remembered her covered in tear-streaked ash. “Sue, you’re the best.” 

“Don’t forget it, baby bro.” She kissed on the forehead. “Now go on, I’ll be right out.” 

Johnny left and Peter followed after him. 

“Oh, and Peter?” 

When Peter turned, Sue was right there, in his face. He nearly took a step back but was suddenly worried she could smell his fear. 

“If you ever, and I mean  _ ever,  _ do anything to hurt my little brother, I will end you. I know I can’t do anything because I’m your teacher, but I have a guy on call with biceps the size of your head. He’s from Yancy Street and he loves Johnny just as much as I do and he will pulverize your scrawny ass. Capiche?” 

Peter thought it unwise to remark that unless this guy was literally made of stone, the pulverizing would be a tough job, so he just nodded instead. 

Sue smiled brilliantly. “You should come over for dinner some time. We’d love to have you.” 

And she left, leaving Peter to feel like he’d maybe wandered into another spider’s web and been eaten without even noticing.

* * *

 

Other than feeling extremely threatened by certain PE teachers, dating Johnny Storm was remarkably easy. After school, they hung out and played video games and watched movies. And during school they held hands and cuddled at the lunch table. They just sort of got each other, the way all Peter’s friends sort of got each other, which was more than Peter could have hoped when they started this thing. 

The once a week kisses weren’t bad either. 

Plus, it was cool to have someone who knew his secret. Maybe that made him selfish, maybe he was putting Johnny’s life at stake, but he’d never really realized how lonely he was until he came crawling into his bedroom, beaten and nearly broken from a fight with Doctor Octopus. He’d been trying to lure him into a trap, but he’d gotten cocky, and he could feel the ghost of Ock’s mechanical tentacles around his throat as if they were still there. 

Johnny was sitting on his bed with two unopened packs of Oreos and bottles of root beer, the real glass kind. He looked up at Peter on the ceiling and smiled. 

“Your aunt let me in. She said you were at the library. I didn’t know it stayed open this late.” 

“There’s one in Brooklyn that does.” 

Peter dropped from the ceiling. He stumbled to the bed and lowered himself next to Johnny. His everything ached. 

“You don’t look so good,” said Johnny, his fingers grazing a tear in the suit along Peter’s ribcage. Peter knew what Johnny felt: warm, bloody stickiness. 

“Nah, I’m fine. Gonna be a bitch to sew back up though.” 

Johnny’s hand rose to Peter’s throat and Peter flinched. Johnny froze and Peter hated that he showed, even for a moment, that bit of weakness. And then Johnny slowly and carefully peeled the cowl from Peter’s head. 

Peter didn’t know how he looked, but it couldn’t be good. Even with his healing factor, Ock had really put him through the wringer. He was sure his face was one giant bruise. 

But Johnny only smiled -- he smiled maybe more than Uncle Ben, maybe more than even his mother, and the only memory Peter had left of her was her smile -- and he said, “It’s a shame the world doesn’t get to see those eyes of yours.”

Peter coughed out a laugh. 

“I brought snacks,” said Johnny, dragging the Oreos and root beer forward. “It’s not very cold anymore.” 

“It’s fine. It’s perfect.” 

Peter popped off the cap of the root beer easily and did the same for Johnny’s. 

They clinked necks and Peter took a swig, and Johnny was right, it wasn’t cold at all, but Peter was right too and its perfect levels were pretty much off the chart.

* * *

 

“I was thinking over the weekend and I had the most incredible idea,” said Mary Jane after barging over to their table.

“Always dangerous,” drawled Harry, who was staring forlornly at Liz sitting on Flash’s lap. 

Gwen elbowed him in the side (hard, if the sound of his grunt was anything to go by). 

“Go on, Mary Jane,” said Gwen sweetly and Mary Jane smiled at her like she was heaven sent. Peter didn’t understand so many things and their relationship was at the top of the list. 

“As you know, auditions for the musical I’m directing have been posted for a week now and Quentin Beck’s the only person who’s signed up.” 

Peter did not know she had posted auditions. He’d been distracted. 

“That’s because drama club is even less popular than the journalism team,” said Harry. 

Joy Mercado flipped him off as she walked by. 

“But I have the solution,” said Mary Jane. “It came to me in a dream. A vision, if you will. We always used to get boys to sign up by advertising that I was gonna be the romantic lead and they’d get to kiss me. Can’t do that now, but the idea still stands. You see, what I have to do is get two popular people to star in the show.” 

“Popular like Flash Thompson?” asked Gwen, clearly skeptical. 

“Bigger than Flash Thompson.” 

“I walked in on him in the lockers once,” Johnny whispered in Peter’s ear. “It doesn’t get _ bigger  _ than Flash Thompson.” Peter fought a grin.

“Felicia told me that Flash told her that Betty told him that Flash’s popularity is actually the lowest it’s been since fifth grade due to new competition. No one wants to like the dumb jock anymore, no matter how hot he is. Not when there are people shaking up the status quo who are just as hot.” 

Peter knew Mary Jane better than anyone and he knew what she was saying before anyone else knew she was saying it. 

“Absolutely not,” said Peter. 

“Don’t be hasty.” 

“You’re insane. You’re an insane person.” 

“Geniuses always are.” 

“If you think I would ever do this, you have actually lost every marble you might have had, and you probably didn’t have that many to begin with.” 

“This is my future, Pete. My one shot at a future. Don’t you care about my future?” 

Peter hesitated just long enough for Mary Jane to climb onto the table and announce to the cafeteria: “May I have your attention please! This fall, coming to a high school near you, resident Midtown It couple Peter Parker and Johnny Storm will be showcasing their real life romance in the hit musical  _ Grease _ ! Forbidden gay love, torn apart by a school at war, directed by  _ moi.  _ Auditions will be held this Friday in the auditorium. Be there if you want to be a part of history of if you just want to see Peter and Johnny make out a bunch during rehearsals. And now I see Mr. Henderson coming this way, probably to warn me to get off the table or suffer detention for the rest of the year, so that is my cue.  _ Ciao! _ ” 

Mary Jane jumped from the table and nearly ran from the cafeteria and the whole place watched her go.

After a long moment of silence, Wyatt said, “It might be fun to be in a musical.”

Johnny kissed his cheek and Peter snapped his plastic fork in half. 

* * *

High school had placed Peter Parker in a lot of situations he never thought he’d see. He got superpowers, for one. His uncle died because of him, for another. He’d been at the center of a long triangle involving two of his best friends for way too long and he’d touched Felicia Hardy’s boobs (over the bra, but it counted) and he’d been kissed by a (beautiful, kind, funny) boy who knew his deepest secret in front of the entire school. But despite all that, if someone would have told him that he was going to be standing on a stage during auditions for  _ Fucking Grease,  _ that would have been what earned them a punch in the kisser. 

“Slate your name and song choice,” said Betty Brant, who MJ had somehow coerced into being stage manager. 

“What?” asked Peter.

“What’s your name and what song are you singing?” 

“You know my name,” Peter said. “I don’t even know why I have to do this since you already told everyone on your Facebook event that I’m playing Danny.” 

“Please, sir, if you could dial down the hostility --,”

“I’ll show you hostility --,”

“Don’t bother,” Mary Jane said. She sat next to Betty and she was drinking up the divadom, wearing those stupid Chanel sunglasses Harry had given half the school. Seriously, everyone looked like they’d all decided that guy from the X-Men was their fashion icon. “I know he can’t sing. We’ll have to divvy up most of his solos, make a not of that.” Betty obediently jotted the note down. “Let’s just show him the dance.” 

Betty pressed play on an iPad and Peter watched the guy on screen twirling and leaping and doing a lot of shit Peter didn’t see the point of or know the name for. But it seemed easy enough so he let Betty count him off and then he danced, or maybe he jumped around a lot. It was a bit like fighting except more fluid -- but fights always had their moments of fluidity too. He remembered taking on some freaky alien with Captain America once, and the old bastard had said, “Cool it with the theatrics, okay, kid?” Cap was a soldier, and that’s fine for him, but he didn’t get that Peter was a performer as much as a fighter. A bored supervillain was the most dangerous kind and civilians were less afraid of destruction when it was beautiful. Even when they hated him, Peter knew how to make them love to watch him work. 

He did a final spin and landed on both his feet in the center of the stage.

Betty’s jaw hung open. Mary Jane’s sunglasses dipped to the tip of her nose.

“All these years, Tiger,” she said with a slow smile, “and you still find ways to surprise me.”

* * *

 

Peter didn’t know how Mary Jane did it, but she ended up with a full cast for her groundbreaking gay  _ Grease.  _ Peter was there and that in and of itself was a miracle, and Johnny and Harry and Wyatt. Gwen wasn’t involved; she already had a full load of AP classes, interned at Oscorp (and jeez, if Peter thought Jameson knew how to work people to death, Harry’s dad was in a whole 'nother ball park), and was a part of the Associated Student Body. That didn’t mean Mary Jane was happy about it. 

“I can’t just drop everything in my life because you asked me to!” Gwen shouted across Peter’s bedroom. 

“Would they even notice if I smothered you with this pillow?” whispered Johnny. They were laying on his bed, trying to watch the next  _ Lord of the Rings  _ movie on Johnny’s laptop. Harry was downstairs with Aunt May. Smart man.

“If you’re really eager to get rid of me, do it now,” Peter agreed. 

“I’m not asking you to drop everything in your life, drama queen. I’m asking you take that stick out of your ass for two seconds and do something fun with me!” 

Peter and Johnny exchanged alarmed glances. Mary Jane tried to backpedal.

“Gwen, I didn’t mean --,” 

“If I have such a stick up my ass, then maybe you shouldn’t hang out with me at all,” said Gwen and she ran out the room. Thankfully, Gwen Stacy was too polite to slam a door in someone else’s house because Peter didn’t think the infrastructure could take a Gwen Stacy Door Slam. 

So, yeah, things were fun. 

But even without Gwen, the auditorium was packed. Peter saw that Betty had rounded up a bunch of the journalism team: Joy Mercado, Glory Grant, Lance Bannon, that girl Peter thought had started homeschooling last year, Cindy, maybe? He nodded at Randy Robertson, who was the son of Peter’s favorite guy at the Bugle. And there was Sally Avril and Liz Allan and -- Flash Thompson, of all people, and Peter wanted to call him out on it, but he honestly looked miserable enough. Felicia Hardy was sitting in the back, texting and chewing bubblegum, and Harry whispered, “Do you think she did it for cash or nudes?” But it was anyone’s guess. 

“Hi, Peter,” said a girl with brown hair and glasses and Peter thought he’d seen her before but he couldn’t remember where.

“Hey . . . you.” 

“I’m so excited to be doing this show with you.” 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be -- a show, that’s for sure.” 

She beamed and shuffled off. 

Betty turned around to glare at him. “Do you seriously not remember her name? It’s --,”

“Thank you so much for coming everyone!” crowed Mary Jane from the stage. She beamed down at them all and it was as if the simple act of her being on stage made light shine from her smile. “I know that for a lot of you, this is out of your comfort zones, but the theater has been a home for me for years. Thank you for taking a chance on it, and on me.” 

There was some scattered applause and Mary Jane drunk it like she was standing before a crowded amphitheatre. 

“She’s wasted behind the scenes,” Johnny whispered. Peter slung an arm around his shoulders and rested it there, for no other reason than he liked touching him. Johnny glanced at him like he knew. 

This whole situation was crazy and wild and weird as hell, but Peter thought that maybe if it meant kissing Johnny more than once a week, it would be a pretty sweet deal.

* * *

 

“Are you nervous?” Johnny asked. 

“No,” Peter lied. 

“Is this your first time?” 

“What are you talking about? We just did it in front of all our friends. Poorly, that’s true, but we still did it. And I don’t think they’ll forget the noises I was making any time soon.” 

They were in Peter’s room. His aunt was out for bingo night. It was just the two of them. 

“We’ll do it in the dark,” said Johnny. “It’ll make you less nervous.” 

He reached up to grab the chain hanging from the ceiling. The door slammed shut. The lights went out. It was just the two of them, visible only under the light of Peter’s glow in the dark stars. 

Music began to play. 

_ “I got chills . . .”  _

The music stopped. 

“You’re not hitting the note,” Johnny said. 

“Because it’s impossible. The male voice isn’t meant to reach that high.”

“John Travolta could do it.” 

Peter pulled a face, but was worried that in the dark, Johnny couldn’t appreciate it fully.

“Do I look like John Travolta to you?” Peter asked. 

“With those hips? Sure. Go again.” 

Smirking, Peter sang,  _ “I got chills . . .”  _

“Higher.” 

_ “I got chills . . .”  _

“Higher Peter, come on.”

“ _ Chills  _ \--,” 

“Wow, my ears are actually bleeding.” Johnny pressed his hand to just below Peter’s sternum. “From the diaphragm.”

“Gesundheit.” 

“Someone who uses his body so much should know how to use it.” 

“Believe me, I know how to use it.” 

“Be serious.” But Peter could see the whiteness of his teeth, hear the laughter in his voice. “From your gut.” 

Peter breathed in deep, from his gut. Johnny’s hand rose and fell with the breath. 

_ “I got chills  _ \--,” 

“There.” 

Peter smiled. The music played. And he sang, “ _ I got chills, they’re multiplying --  _ This is a really relatable song.” 

“Keep singing while you’re on key!” 

“It’s electrifying!” Peter crowed with a laugh. 

Johnny turned and wrapped Peter’s arms around his torso. 

“ _ You better shape up _ ,” he sang, all sexy-breathy, “ _ ‘cause I need a man  _ \--,” 

_ “You need a man,”  _ Peter whispered in his ear. And he bit it. 

Johnny shrieked and pushed him away. “I’m trying to  _ rehearse _ .” He was trying not to laugh, clearly, and Peter was such a sucker.

“And I’m trying to have some fun, sweetheart.” 

“Well, do it on your own time --,” 

“You’re the one that I want!” Peter yelled and tackled him to the bed. Johnny squirmed but Peter got his knees on either side of his hips and he caught his wrists, pinning them above his head. Johnny’s chest heaved. The stars reflected in his eyes. 

“You sure you’re not a supervillain?” asked Johnny. “Green Goblin in disguise?” 

“God, I hope not. I don’t even want to know what that guy does in his free time.” 

Johnny tested his hold. Peter tightened his grip. 

“You know,” Peter said, “I used to think maybe I could be. A supervillain, that is. I thought I could just fuck the world. God knows, it fucked me enough. Even after, y’know, after I learned I shouldn’t, that I had a responsibility to not -- I still thought I could. That I had the heart to do it. ‘Till you.” 

Johnny’s lips parted. And Peter kept talking, not even bothering to think the words through. Something about Johnny made Peter trust that what he had inside of him would be met with kindness. 

“When we’re together,” Peter said, “I think I forget to be angry. And I’m always so damn angry. It’s like . . . being with you makes whatever war’s been inside me my whole life go quiet.” He ducked his head, letting the waves of his hair shield his face. “God, that sounds . . .” Stupid. Romantic. Sentimental. Like Peter was in love with him or something. Nothing that Peter really had it in him to be. Right?

“I’m always scared,” Johnny said. 

Peter could feel the flutter of Johnny’s pulse in his wrists. He could hear the air leaving his throat. 

“What’s there to be scared of?” 

“Fire.” He cracked an ironic smile: a joke that wasn’t a joke at all. “Losing people I care about. I’ve lost people before.” 

“I’ll protect you,” Peter swore.

“I know you will.” His smile turned sad. “I’m scared of that too.” 

Peter’s grip loosened, but Johnny didn’t make a move to break free. It made Peter dangerous. 

“If you could do one thing right now, damn the consequences, what would it be?” 

Johnny licked his lips. Peter thought his entire life depended on the answer.

In the distance, a door opened. Aunt May’s whistling drifted up the stairs. With an enormous amount of effort, Peter rolled off Johnny. 

“I guess I should go,” Johnny said and Peter didn’t think it was his imagination that he sounded a little breathless.

“I’ll swing you home.” 

“No, don’t --,” 

“Then stay.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ll tell her you fell asleep while I was doing homework. That it was the first time you’ve really slept in weeks and I couldn’t bear to disturb you. She’s a sucker for a good sob story.”

“Parkers must have that in common.” 

“Come on. I’ll get you some sleep clothes.”

“I should call --,” 

“Then do it.”

Peter and Johnny held eye contact before Johnny stood to grab his phone where it had been abandoned playing  _ Grease  _ music on Peter’s desk. He pressed it to his ear. 

“Hey, Reed,” said Johnny. “I’m over at Peter’s -- yes, that Peter -- and I’m pretty tired so I was thinking I’d just stay over here. His aunt’s home. No, don’t bother waking Sue. Reed, have I  _ ever  _ lied to you?” 

As Johnny tried to outsmart a genius, Peter pulled plaid pants and an oversized Spider-Man t-shirt he got from last year’s holiday gift exchange at the Bugle (real creative, Lance), and tossed them onto the bed for Johnny. He went out the door, closing it softly behind him. 

For a moment, he stood with his back against the door. “Calm down,” he told Little Peter sternly. And then he jumped the rail to go meet Aunt May in the kitchen. 

“Hi, love,” she said as she brewed her tea. “Nice evening?” 

“I need a favor,” said Peter without preamble.

“I don’t have any marijuana, if you’re wondering. I know what the kids like.” 

“Johnny’s in my room.” 

Aunt May’s eyebrows shot up. “Your boyfriend.” 

“That’s the one.” 

“You had your boyfriend in your room. At night. While I wasn’t home.” 

“Very astute of you.” 

“Don’t talk to me that way, Peter Parker --,” 

“Come on, just don’t make a thing of it. I have Gwen, MJ, and Harry over all the time.” 

And Aunt May didn’t even know the half of what he got up to with Gwen and MJ, even when she was home.

“You’re not dating Gwen, MJ, or Harry, are you?” 

“Is this a gay thing? ‘Cause  _ wow _ , Aunt May.” 

Aunt May’s nostrils flared and she jabbed a finger in Peter’s chest. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” said Peter, catching her hand. “But, look, Johnny’s had a rough time -- he hasn’t been sleeping -- can he stay for the night?” 

Aunt May downcast her eyes and sighed. She looked tired, all of a sudden, and old. It almost hurt to look at her. 

“Of course he can stay,” she said. “I only wish . . .” 

When she didn’t continue, Peter prompted, “Yes?” 

Aunt May straightened, back to looking her spry self. She patted Peter on the cheek. “I know you’re getting older, but you’re still my boy. I only wish you’d let be a part of your world sometimes.” 

“Aunt May.” Peter nuzzled into her hand. “You’re the only world I have.” 

She smiled at him, almost sadly. Dropping her hand, she said, “He can stay the night.”

Peter wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. So he nodded and went back to his room. 

Johnny was already curled up on the edge of the bed, breathing soft and slow. He really hadn’t been sleeping much, had he? Peter stared at him for a moment before stepping forward, quiet so as not to wake him. He lowered himself onto the bed and immediately Johnny stirred. 

“Sue?” he mumbled. 

“It’s me. Peter.” He ran his thumb along the crease between Johnny’s brows, smoothing it out. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

Johnny nodded drowsily and shuffled forward so his head was resting in the crook of his Peter’s neck. “Peter,” he breathed, lips brushing the skin there. 

Peter held him as he drifted back into unconsciousness, pressed against his side. 

“Shit,” he said to the stars on his ceiling.

* * *

 

“Why do we always do this at my place?” Peter asked, rhetorically, but Harry clearly felt a need to provide answers anyway. 

“Because Aunt May is awesome, my dad’s an asshole, MJ’s aunt gets migraines, and we can’t go over to Gwen’s since MJ isn’t talking to her.” 

Mary Jane stared at herself in a handheld mirror as she blotted out brown skin with green paint. “Just because Gwen and I aren’t talking doesn’t mean you guys have to stop.” 

“We haven’t,” said Harry. His curls were brushed out and frizzy and powdered gray. He wore a torn lab coat and broken glasses. “I see Gwen all the time.” 

Peter frowned. Gwen had been eating with Sally Avril, which wasn’t entirely new, and he figured she and MJ would make up eventually and she’d come back. But he still hadn’t reached out to her in a while and he suddenly felt her absence like a hole inside him. 

“It’s the first year Gwen since sixth grade that Gwen and I won’t be doing a couples costume,” MJ said to her reflection. She frowned a little and then suddenly brightened. “How do I look?” 

She wore a long, curve-hugging black dress and a witch hat atop her long red cornrows. Her skin was freshly green. 

“Like Christmas,” said Peter and she threw a pillow at him. 

The bedroom door opened and in walked Johnny. His wore tight denim jeans and chaps, shiny red cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a fringe vest hanging open over his bare abs. 

Peter loved Halloween. 

“Classy as always, Storm,” said Harry. 

“That’s Sheriff Storm to you,” said Johnny. “Save a horse, ride a Spider-Man.” 

He fell into Peter’s lap and Peter hugged him close as Johnny whispered, “You’re the laziest superhero ever.” 

“I think of it as resourceful,” said Peter and he nuzzled into Johnny’s neck while they both pretended not to notice Harry’s gagging.

* * *

 

Aunt May and Anna May, both dressed like witches and about three quarters of a bottle of scotch in (“migraines,” MJ says), made them all pose by the mantel while they took photos. They smiled and then got into character -- Peter entertained the thought of just climbing up to the ceiling. Jameson would pay a fortune for those photos. 

They called for couples photos which basically meant Harry and MJ (who were not a couple, and never had been, except for that month in freshman year when MJ made Harry cry after forgetting to bring flowers to _ Oklahoma! _ ) and Peter and Johnny. Peter kissed Johnny chastely on the lips and Johnny let him. They hadn’t had their kiss of the week yet. Though if they had, Peter would still have kissed him. 

Liz was technically holding the party for the cast of  _ Grease  _ only, but she had a nice house in Forest Hills Gardens, parents at some restaurant convention in San Francisco, many friends, and a morally dubious stepbrother who was over twenty-one and willing to give minors alcohol. The party was well in-swing by the time they arrived. 

“I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake,” said Peter as the door open and there stood Liz, dressed like a zombie cheerleader. Peter could practically hear Harry swoon. 

“Come on in, come on in!” said Liz. “You guys look great! Oh my god, Peter, I have to find Flash, he is gonna get a kick out of you.”

Liz ran off, leaving them alone at the doorway. “Monster Mash” played over a speaker and a group of sweaty teens writhed in the middle of the living room. It smelled like cheap beer. Peter never went to parties and he suddenly remembered why. 

“Did anyone else notice that the chalk on Liz’s face really brought out her eyes?” asked Harry. Peter patted him on the back. 

As they worked their way around the edge of the party, Peter said, “You look really great. I don’t think I told you that.” 

Johnny flashed him a smile. “I know it’s slutty.” 

“No, it’s fun. You’re not afraid to have fun and I like that.” 

Johnny’s smile turned soft. “Halloween makes you sappy.” 

And they couldn’t have that, could they? So Peter leaned into him and whispered, “Plus, I think it’s kind of sexy.” 

Before Johnny could react, Peter pushed ahead into the kitchen. It was a little less loud here, but still had groups of kids gathered together, drinking and laughing. He noticed Betty in a pumpkin sweater, Glory dressed in full-on disco gear, Joy as a sexy candy striper, and Cindy Moon wearing like . . . a Pokemon onesie? (Yeah, he was pretty sure it was that famous Pokemon guy. The yellow one. Maybe his name was Pokemon?) Leaning against a wall near an ice chest was Felicia Hardy, who dressed like she dressed every Halloween: her regular leather jacket and black cat ears. She must have been feeling festive tonight because she had whiskers drawn on her face. 

Her eyes flicked over to them. “Yeehaw,” she drawled, blatantly staring at Johnny’s abs. Her nose wrinkled as she glanced at MJ. “I can’t kiss you while your face is green.” 

Mary Jane blew her a kiss. “That’ll have to do.” 

“Not tonight. The cowboy’s making me tingly.”

“Sure that’s not the beer?” asked Peter, placing a hand on Johnny’s hip.

“Calm down, Spider, I’m not making a move.” She sidled over to them and whispered, “Does anyone else get a gay vibe from Cindy?” 

“No?” said Peter. 

“You will when I’m through with her.” Felicia winked and left them to flirt with the Journalist Club. 

“That girl’s like a shark,” mumbled Johnny. “And she can smell bicuriosity from miles away.” 

“I just hope she doesn’t steal anything,” said Peter. “I’m off the clock.” 

Harry was cracking open beers and pouring them into plastic cups. He gave one to MJ and one to Johnny, but Peter waved him off. He couldn’t afford to lose any of his wits, not when he carried the kind of secrets he did. 

“You wanna dance?” Peter asked Johnny. 

Johnny stared with wide eyes. “With you?” 

“Nah, with Wolverine.” 

“Is he here?” 

“Shut up.” Peter knocked his forehead into Johnny’s. “Dance with me, bub.” 

Johnny pulled back, eyes alight. “You haven’t even been drinking.” 

“Like I need to drink to make a fool of myself in front of all the rich kids of Queens with you.” 

Johnny opened his mouth, but just then Liz Allan burst into the kitchen. “Is Peter Parker here? Peter!” She ran over to him and grabbed his arm to haul him away. Liz Allan was deceptively strong. Maybe all cheerleaders were.  

Peter cast desperate eyes at Johnny who waved pleasantly as he was dragged off. 

Somehow he ended up on a couch between Flash Thompson and Liz Allan. Flash was wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt and his face had been painted like the mask. 

“You know Spider-Man doesn’t get royalties off those, right?” Peter asked. 

“Isn’t he cute though?” said Liz. “I did his face myself. Found a Youtube tutorial.”

“Yeah, he’s real cute.” 

Flash coughed. “Thanks. Um, your costume’s really authentic.” 

“Blew a month’s paycheck from the Bugle on it,” said Peter. “Didn’t know you liked Spider-Man, Flash, ol’ pal.” 

“He’s, like, in love with him,” said Liz and draped herself over his side. Peter, normally, would not be opposed to this, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he could be dancing with Johnny right now. “President of the Queens branch of the fan club.” 

Peter arched an eyebrow. Flash laughed self-consciously. 

“Guy’s the man, man,” said Flash. “I really admire him. Going out of his way to help people like that. It’s pretty badass. It’s what I’d want to do if I could do the things he can.” 

Liz rested her chin on Peter’s shoulder. “He’s such a softie.” 

Peter grinned at him. “You kinda are.” 

It was hard to be sure under the red makeup, but Peter thought Flash might be blushing. “Hey,” he said and playfully punched Peter in the shoulder. “You know, uh, you’re a really good dancer.” 

“Um, thanks. You’re a pretty good singer.” 

Flash hung his head with mumbled thanks and Liz said, “ _ Boys _ .” 

She straightened suddenly while Peter was busy feeling like he had entered an alternate dimension and said, “Oh my god, drool-worthy display at twelve o’clock.” 

Peter thought that was kind of a weird way to talk when your boyfriend was sitting right there but then he looked up -- and saw Johnny dancing with Wyatt Wingfoot, who was dressed like Indiana Jones if Indiana Jones were a six-foot-plus Native American god who was carved from marble and rose from the seafoam, and they were all pressed together and Wyatt was whispering in Johnny’s ear and Johnny’s head was thrown back laughing and then he was tugging on Wyatt’s stupid fucking fedora until they were eye level and Johnny was whispering in Wyatt’s ear and Wyatt’s hands were on Johnny’s hips and Michael Jackson was singing about thrilling the night which didn’t even make any fucking sense -- 

“Wow,” said Liz. “Did you know they were that close?” 

Peter stood and pushed himself through the crowd of dancers. He saw Harry and MJ bopping up and down with Randy Robertson (dressed like Wolverine and honestly Randy was a cool guy but fuck Wolverine). He saw Cindy Moon’s yellow Pokemon self being spun under Felicia’s arm. That girl in the glasses whose name he still didn’t know waved at him. And then --,

“Whoa!” said Gwen, her hands at his elbows. “You okay?” 

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, gaping down at her. 

She scowled. “Sally invited me. Don’t act too excited.” 

“You -- your costume --,” 

“Glinda the Good Witch,” said Gwen. “And yes I’ve seen MJ. The irony has not gone unnoticed.” 

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Can we get out of here?” 

If some asshole who was once Peter’s friend but hadn’t talked to him in a few weeks barged in and asked for a moment alone, Peter would tell him to get lost. But Gwen Stacy was the best of all of them. 

“Come on,” she said and took his hand. 

She led Peter out onto Liz’s back patio, the door still open to the kitchen behind them which was pretty empty now except for some guy dressed like a Kermit the Frog passed out by the beer. 

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Are you and Johnny fighting?” 

“Not really,” said Peter. “I mean, maybe we are, he just doesn’t know it.”

“Sounds like a story.” 

“A long and pathetic one, probably.” He looked down at her under the patio lanterns. Her silver tiara glittered and there was a sheen to her skin that was probably makeup but Peter thought it might just be Gwen. “Hey, I’m sorry we haven’t talked.” 

“It’s okay,” said Gwen, leaning up against the patio rail, like a princess in a tower. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. If that guy had spider powers, he wouldn’t even have needed her hair. “It’s not like we’re really friends.” 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Come on, Peter. Harry is your best friend. MJ is your soulmate. I’m just your sometimes girlfriend. And now I’m not even that.” 

“Gwendy, you are so off base it’s not even funny,” said Peter, moving to stand beside her. Their shoulders brushed. “You’re the smartest person I know. And you’re freaking hilarious. And motivated -- you’ve already sent in your college apps!” 

“The future waits for no one.” 

“And I think I’m better with you than I am without.” 

Gwen looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. Maybe MJ was right, all those weeks ago, when she warned Peter about breaking Gwen’s heart. Maybe underneath all of Gwen’s ice and sarcasm, she was a bit soft. In a good way. Peter liked her softness. 

He noticed the goosebumps on her skin. “God, why aren’t you wearing a jacket?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. 

“Would ruin the look.” 

“Okay, I am back to being the smartest person I know.”

He drew her in to hold her against himself, give her his warmth. She pulled back, just a little, and stared into his eyes. Her hands rested on the spider on his chest. It was like they were in a movie. It was like she knew the truth of him and she loved him anyway. 

“Peter . . .” she breathed, and he kissed her. 

It was only a moment and then she was shoving him away. 

“Oh my god,” she said, staring at him with sparkly nails covering her lips. “What is wrong with you? You have a boyfriend!” 

“Gwen, it’s not what you think.” He reached out a hand to her but she raised one of her own, a slap with no follow through. 

“You mean you didn’t just  _ kiss  _ me while your boyfriend who I like an awful lot is in that house?”

“Johnny and I --,” Peter licked his lips. “Look, we’re not really together, okay?”

Gwen’s hand dropped. “What?”

“Our relationship. It’s not real. It’s a scam. A joke. None of it was real, we have all these rules and we invented a backstory. He did it to get popular and I did it to get girls.” 

Gwen stared at him like he’d just told her, well. Like he’d just told her he’s Spider-Man. 

“So you’re telling me, you entered into a fake gay relationship . . . to get girls?” 

Well, when you said it like that.

“I know it was stupid,” Peter said. “I only did it because --,”  _ Because a boy with pretty eyes that had seen every face I have asked me to.  _ “Because I felt bad. The guy lost everything and it was just -- sad, okay? He was a mess and I was trying to be nice --,” 

It suddenly felt as if Peter’s skin had stung all over, all at once, and he spun around, ready to attack. But it was just Johnny, standing in the kitchen. 

“Johnny,” said Peter. 

“Oh, um, Liz told me you went this way?” Johnny said and his voice was pitched oddly. His words sounded like questions. “I thought I might come find you? Take you up on that dance?” 

“Johnny --,” 

“He’s right though,” Johnny said to Gwen. “We’re not actually a thing so, I mean, you guys can do whatever you want together.” 

“Johnny, I wasn’t --,” 

“I know you’re supposed to meet my family next week, but don’t feel like you have to, okay? I’m not holding you hostage, promise.” 

Peter didn’t say a thing. 

“Anyway, I think I’m gonna go,” Johnny said. “Wyatt drove here so he’ll just drop me off at my place. You look really pretty, Gwen.” 

And then he going back into the living room and into the dancing and Peter knew he should follow him, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned back against the patio rail and said, “He  _ drove _ here? Who  _ drives  _ in this city?” 

“Wyatt Wingfoot apparently,” said Gwen, leaning into him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you. I promise I read those pamphlets you gave to all your friends and I know that confirmed consent is important.” 

“I forgive you,” said Gwen. “And I know what you were trying to say.” 

He just wanted to hold her for a little while longer, and the miracle was that she let him.

* * *

 

Peter and Johnny weren’t not talking but they weren’t exactly talking either. Wyatt and Johnny still ate lunch at the table, but it was kind of weird now and Peter and Johnny’s weirdness affected everyone else. Some days, Peter didn’t even eat with them -- he went over and sat with Gwen and Flash and Liz and Sally Avril -- which was its own kind of weird, but at least it was one he knew how to handle. 

Everyone knew he and Johnny were sort of fighting but even MJ and Harry were tactful enough not to ask about it. Harry invited Peter over to his place for video games, which he never ever did unless he could not physically leave, and MJ kept sending him heart emojis. 

After running “Summer Nights” within an inch of its life one night, Peter went out for a swing. He webbed up some muggers and saved a tourist from being hit by a taxi (which she definitely did not thank him for). After an hour or so, he checked the Trinity Church clock and he coughed up some pocket money for flowers. 

When Sue Storm opened her apartment door (and how weird to see her in a flannel and jeans instead of gym shorts), she look surprised for all of a moment. And then she leaned against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow. 

“I didn’t think we’d be seeing you any time soon.” 

“I said I’d be here so. I got you these.” He thrust out the bouquet of daisies. It was like he could see them wilting. “I know they’re a bit banged up. It was, uh. A rough ride here.” 

Sue stared at him for a long moment. 

“They’re lovely,” she said at last, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him cross the threshold. 

Peter found Johnny at the dining table, working on homework. He glanced up -- and froze. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“You invited me, remember? So I came.” 

Johnny frowned and the doorbell rang. They could hear Sue letting in more people, followed by the smell of pizza. Two men rounded the corner, each holding a pizza box. The one closest to Peter, handsome with baby blue eyes and a general aura of masculinity, sized him up. 

“You the punk who’s been givin’ my kid trouble?” asked Ben. 

“Um,” said Peter. 

“This is Ben,” Johnny said. “And Reed.” 

Peter would have shaken Dr. Richards’ hand but Ben pushed a pizza box into his arms with a gruff, “Make yourself useful.” He set the box on the table and Reed set his own next to it. 

“Got an everything pizza,” said Reed and Peter straightened when he realized he was talking to  _ him _ . “And a plain cheese for anyone of a delicate constitution.” 

“It’s classic!” said Johnny. 

“Some of us are explorers,” Reed said with a wink in Peter’s direction. 

“Believe me, I do  _ plenty _ of exploring,” Johnny said and Sue clapped her hands over her ears with a screech, like she was 12-years-old and not Peter’s Phys Ed teacher. It was kind of nice, and Peter could abruptly imagine their whole life together. He realized he didn’t what happened to Johnny’s parents. Were they still out there? Or was Sue all he had?

They ate their pizza together, all joking around like a family. And Peter guessed they were. Hey, who was he to judge? His family was a lady in her sixties who technically didn’t have a strand of his DNA running through her. 

“Johnny tells me you’re a scientist,” Reed said. 

Peter looked at Johnny, who was doing something to annoy Ben, who kept acting like he was gonna smear pizza in Johnny’s hair. 

“I guess I am,” said Peter. 

“What’s your focus?” 

“Biomechanics mostly.” 

“You ever thought about applying to the Future Foundation? Once the Baxter Building is up and running of course. You’re a little older than we normally take but I’m sure I could put in a good word with the guys who runs the place. It’s me. I’m the guy who run the place.” 

“No offense, sir,” Peter interjected, “but I don’t even know if college is in my future. Don’t exactly have a lot of cash floating around and what I do have my aunt needs to pay the bills.”

Plus, it might be nice to have more free time for extracurricular activities, if you caught his drift. 

“The Future Foundation is all-expense paid for those accepted,” said Reed thoughtfully, “but I see your point.” 

They watched Johnny spring up from his chair and Ben chased him around the kitchen. Johnny grabbed a spatula and wielded it at Ben but Ben leaped forward anyway and grabbed Johnny around the waist, lifting him up and spinning him around. 

“Sue!” Johnny yelled. “Help me!” 

“I just bought that spatula,” yelled Sue from the sofa in front of the TV where she was watching the Mets. At least she had good taste in baseball.

“You remind me a bit of Sue,” said Reed with a small smile. Peter’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Coach Sue?” he asked, just for confirmation, and Reed grinned. 

“The very same. She’s rather . . . pragmatic. And she cares about people. I have the feeling you do too.” 

“Lots of people care about people.”

“No, not like that. Not to the point where you’d be willing to lay it all on the line for someone else.” Reed watched Johnny and Ben wrestle, which was mostly Ben wrestling while Johnny hit him with a spatula. “Johnny cares about people, too. Did you know that Johnny was stuck in the Baxter Building fire?”

“He told me.” 

“Did you know that he got out initially? And he ran back in?” 

Peter blinked. “No. I didn’t know that at all.” 

“We all got out. And it was an intense experience, we were all emotional. So Sue was crying about losing some photo albums -- the two of them, they didn’t have much before the Baxter Building. Only memories. So Johnny ran back inside. Sue would have followed, of course, but the firefighters restrained her. And so did I.” He downcast his eyes. “She was behaving irrationally and she could have brought the building down. I couldn’t bear to lose both of them.” 

Peter watched as Ben deposited Johnny on the couch next to Sue. He cuddled up to her and she held him close. 

“It was kind of Johnny to try to save those photos,” Reed continued. “But foolish. Sue would much rather have had her brother than pictures of him. There’s a difference, I suppose, between being willing to sacrifice yourself and sacrificing yourself when you don’t have to.” 

Reed grasped Peter’s shoulder and it was kind, fatherly, before he went to sit next to Sue. 

Johnny popped up and waved for Peter to follow him and Peter did. Johnny’s room was tidy and felt a bit unlived in. Peter wondered if it was because he hadn’t had time to unpack, didn’t feel like unpacking somewhere temporary, or didn’t even have anything to unpack. It had been a big fire. Peter remembered. 

“Were you scared?” Peter heard himself asking. “That night?” 

It was a stupid question, but he asked it anyway. He just wanted Johnny to say something. 

“More scared than I’ve ever been,” said Johnny. “I thought I was going to die. When I opened my eyes and you were there, I thought I was already dead.” He sat on his bed and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Hell must be terrible. All that fire forever and ever.” 

“Does that make me the devil?” 

“If the devil's a spider, I would not be surprised,” said Johnny with a small smile. “What about you? Were you scared?” 

“Scared I was gonna lose you,” Peter said. “Even then.” 

Johnny stared down at his comforter, playing with the hem of it. 

“Look, Johnny, I’m --,” 

“I think we should break up.” 

Peter froze. Johnny didn’t look at him. 

“What?” 

“This has gotten way out of hand,” said Johnny. “And people are invested and getting hurt, and I just think it would be best if we stopped.” 

“Is this about Gwen because --,” 

“It’s not. Mostly not.” 

“Then what is it about?” asked Peter. He went to his knees beside the bed, as if he were praying, but instead of taking his own hand he took Johnny’s.  _ Look at me, look at me, look at me.  _ “I think we’ve got a really good thing going. I’m having fun, with you, and I can’t remember the last time I had fun at all.” 

He could see Johnny take a breath and still his shoulders. Their eyes met at last. 

“Maybe not everything is about you,” said Johnny and his voice was gentle but his words tore at Peter’s skin. “You’re a good person, Peter, and you’re really brave, but your whole life has been the Peter Parker show. You do what you want and other people live with it. It was really nice of you to come here, honestly, but . . . I didn’t ask you to.”

“I thought it would be nice,” said Peter, feeling like had missed a step somewhere.

“It was,” said Johnny and Peter felt the urge to laugh because Johnny was tearing him down and reassuring him all at once. “It really was. But I hate lying to my family. And I don’t want them getting used to something that can’t stay. We’ve lost a lot.” 

_ Then don’t lose me. Keep me close and I’ll never leave.  _

“We can still be friends,” Johnny said. He smiled a little. “I mean, that’s all we’ve ever been, right?” 

_ No, _ Peter wanted to shout. _ No, no, no. You’re the person who trusted me to save you. Who makes me laugh like my uncle always tried. Who makes me want to dance. You saw me and you knew me and I know it sounds crazy but I think I know you, too.  _

Peter drew his hand away. “Sure thing.” 

He stood up and made his way to the door, mind already spinning ahead to what sort of crime he could stop tonight. Who he needed to punch. 

“Peter,” said Johnny and Peter froze in the doorway. “See ya in the next burning building, okay?” 

Peter left.

* * *

 

“We’re so psyched to have you,” said the girl who was showing them around -- Jean, Peter thought her name was. “Xavier’s doesn’t get many guests.”

The mansion hallways seemed to glisten and the walls were lined with art and framed photos of people Peter was sure were important. Every oaken door was closed. Peter couldn’t even imagine going to school in a place like this and he couldn’t imagine how that kid Daken from last year managed to get in. Maybe he threatened the headmaster’s wife and kids. 

“Thank you for answering the phone,” Mary Jane said. “I was just calling schools around the state to see if we could get anyone to let us perform before we open. It’s my first time directing and I wanted some feedback.” 

“We’ll be happy to help!” Jean said. “We don’t even have a drama club. It sounds so fun.” 

“This place is huge,” said Harry, sunglasses pushed up into his curls. “Where are all students?” 

“Oh, you know,” said Jean with a laugh and wave of her hand. Harry’s furrowed brow showed he very much did not know. 

They pushed through the doors into a huge auditorium. 

“We don’t really have a theater either,” Jean said. “So I was hoping you could use this space. The acoustics are great. And there are alcoves at each end for costume changes.” 

“Sounds fab,” Mary Jane said. 

“I’ll just get the others while you set up.” 

Jean fell silent and looked like she was thinking very hard about something. They all stared at her. Her eyes focused and she blinked them. 

“I mean . . .” she said, “I will go and get the others because they are not in this room with me right now.” 

She hurried away. 

“There’s a story here, I can smell it,” Betty said. 

“No smelling stories!” said MJ. “Get into costume, go, go, go!” 

Peter used an alcove to change into his white t-shirt and leather jacket with the other guys. He tried not to watching Johnny pulling his own shirt over his head. They hadn’t talked the entire bus ride here and already Peter’s mouth missed laughing. 

Peter couldn’t hear that many people in the audience, but Mary Jane came forward to give a speech about her artistic vision and what the show meant to her and yadda yadda yadda. There was scattered applause and the overture (playing from a plugged-in boombox) began to crescendo. 

“Break a leg,” Johnny whispered to him. It broke Peter’s heart, a little bit. He didn’t know if he wanted Johnny to talk to him or stay far away.

When Peter went onto the “stage,” the lights were dim but there were no stage lights or anything and Peter could clearly see six people seated in the huge auditorium. Real big turn out, huh. 

They stumbled there way through the first few musical numbers and Peter even got a few laughs. MJ had given most of Danny’s“Greased Lightning” solos to Flash, who sounded pretty good, but Peter dazzled with acrobatics. And he had a blast during “Born to Handjive,” dancing up on Felicia, who would never admit to having taken dance lessons but there was no way she learned to do this without superpowers. 

Peter didn’t watch from the wings while Johnny sang “Hopelessly Devoted to You.” He could bear a building on his back but he didn’t think he could bear that. 

The show ended to vigorous applause from all six members of the audience and then they were invited to share lunch with them. 

“Do you think that guy’s making fun of me?” Harry whispered, glaring through his sunglasses at the guy in the sweater vest talking to Mary Jane. He was also wearing sunglasses. Red ones. 

“I do not think you are so famous that some guy here is copying your fashion trends,” said Peter, his eyes sweeping the room. “Have you see Johnny?” 

“Have you seen how huge that guy’s arms are?” Harry asked, now examining some guy with regular glasses who was indeed flexing for the Journalism Club. 

“Never change, Harry,” Peter said and got up to go look for Johnny. 

The hallways were long and empty and Peter meandered through them. For a little bit of fun, he pushed open a closed door but it was just an empty classroom with a chalkboard that had something that looked like war maneuvers on it. Boring as hell. Peter let the door swing shot and spotted some stairs, which, naturally, he climbed. More hallways -- and then glass doors leading out to a balcony over a garden. He told himself he’d be able to see everything from there, it was practical, but maybe he pulled open the doors because he was just a bit romantic. And it was true: he could see everything, hedges, and roses, and fountains, the kind of old style New York glamour that no one thought was real outside of vintage movies. 

Peter’s eyes roamed the garden -- and there, in the shadow of a hedge of roses, he saw Johnny, his golden head craned close to a head of dusty brown. It was one of the guys from Xavier’s, Billy or Brody or something, and as Peter watched, Billy Brody Whatever pressed a kiss to Johnny’s mouth. 

Peter’s stomach felt lined with lead. Johnny didn’t pull away. 

The door behind him opened and someone walked out to join him. 

“I thought I saw you come up here,” said Mary Jane. “What are you . . .?” 

He wasn’t looking at her, but he could hear the moment she saw him. 

“Oh my god. Peter.” Her hand rested on his tricep. “What do you need from me? Do you need me to kick his ass? Because I will absolutely go down there and kick his ass.” 

Peter turned to meet her eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so sorry for him. Actually, he could. After Uncle Ben died. He’d been strong for Aunt May through the whole funeral but it was MJ who held him as he wept at one in the morning underneath those horrid glow in the dark stars.

No matter who left his life, it was always MJ who stayed. No matter who came in to his life, it was always MJ he knew he belonged with. He’d convinced himself that was enough for him. That it didn’t matter who he kissed and whose heart he broke because they were all temporary anyway. Mary Jane, his one true constant.

But he realized, a soft sort of realization in the back his mind, that living like that wasn’t fair. Not to Mary Jane, not to his other friends, not to himself. She didn’t belong to him. And maybe, he considered as he watched Johnny kissing that guy (Bobby?) and it felt like his bones were splintering (and he would know), maybe even though he loved her with all his heart, he didn’t belong to her either.

“We broke up,” Peter said at last. “He can kiss whoever he wants.” 

Mary Jane blinked her big, hazel eyes at him. “What do you mean you broke up?” 

“Kapoof.” Peter mimed an explosion with his hands. “That’s our relationship.” 

“Peter!” MJ hissed and the comforting hand on his arm turned into claws. “My whole project is built around having Midtown High’s biggest It couple in the show! Sex sells!” 

“You’ve still got Liz and Flash.” 

“No one is going to pay to see what they could see for free after football practice every Thursday afternoon.” Mary Jane leaned on the rail of the balcony and despairingly watched Johnny and Bobby whisper sweet nothings to each other. Peter knew how she felt. “Couldn’t you just pretend to be in a relationship until the show closes like Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson did for _Breaking Dawn Part 2_?” 

Peter coughed. “Yeah, I think that ship’s sailed.” 

“I’m sorry.” Mary Jane rested her head on Peter’s shoulder. “I know you really liked him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’d never seen you smile that much. Not even when I told a joke while you were really horny.” 

“Maybe I’m just not a relationship guy.” 

“You’re in good company.” 

Peter darted his eyes to her face. “You okay?” 

“Do you ever think we ruin everything with other people because we’re meant to be together?” 

“I used to. Now I think that maybe it’s just because we’re both assholes.” 

“Could be worse,” said Mary Jane. 

“We could be Harry,” said Peter and they both cackled, effectively proving the asshole point.

* * *

 

Tech week sucked. Like it sucked more than most things in Peter’s life sucked, which was saying something. 

“You’re telling me that we’ve been putting on plays since Ancient Greece,” said Peter, “and no one has figured out a better way to do this?” 

“Can you please respect the process, Parker?” asked Quentin Beck, who was attempting to run lines to himself. Peter had all his lines down pat and, no offense, but he had way more than Quentin. “Some people take the life of the Thespian very seriously.”

Peter caught Johnny’s eye, a few rows in front of him. Johnny smiled a little before turning around in his seat to watch Glory Grant keep belt. Something swooped in Peter’s stomach and he tried to ignore it. He hated and he loved that one tiny smile from Johnny felt like falling all over again. 

Someone tapped Peter on the shoulder: Betty. Now that it was Tech, she rarely came down from the booth, too busy calling light cues and shit. She yelled at Joy Mercado on Monday for daring to shout up to her that she’d brought her a burger. Peter kind of wondered if that was Joy’s plan all along since she then graciously ate the burger herself. 

“The principal wants to see you and MJ in his office,” Betty whispered. “We’ll have someone walk your role.” 

Peter met MJ in the hallway. She seemed cool and unbothered, but he could tell she was nearly coming apart at the seams. She didn’t say a single word as they walked to Principal Davis’ office. 

Principal Davis waved them in when they knocked on his door. His eyes looked small and beady through his coke-bottle glasses. On his desk was a poster that had been hung around school: Peter and Johnny in black, posed like Olivia Newton John and John Travolta with the bubble letters  _ GREASE  _ splashed across the front. 

Peter’s skin tingled. Not like a spidey sense. Just a good ol’ fashioned bad feeling. 

“Candy?” Mr. Davis offered, shaking a tin of hard candies on his desk. Peter and MJ declined, and not only because those candies looked like something a dentist would give out on Halloween.

Davis cleared his throat. “It’s come to my attention, Ms. Watson, that you are selling tickets for a musical theatre show without express consent from the school.” 

“Mrs. Rodriguez is my faculty supervisor,” said Mary Jane. “We’ve been working together and she totally knows all the creative choices I’ve made.” 

“Well, Mrs. Rodriguez has failed to get the consent of her supervisors given certain creative choices you’ve made.” 

Mr. Davis unwrapped a candy and plopped it in his mouth. Peter wanted to crack his teeth with his fists before that stupid candy had the chance to do it for him. 

“To be frank,” said Mr. Davis, “the school is retracting your right to put on this show.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Peter and MJ asked at once. 

“We’ve had a complaint from a parent. There have been threats of a lawsuit, you see. And the fact of the matter is that this is a show for children.” 

“For teenagers!” said Mary Jane. “And, wake up America, kids our age are getting pregnant and doing drugs so I don’t know why we shouldn’t be allowed to show that.” 

Davis cleared his throat. And cleared it again. And again. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “those are parts of the plot of  _ Grease _ . But most parents seem to take issues with your personal take on it. Which I’ll admit is rather . . . unorthodox.” 

Peter could see Mary Jane was shaking. He threaded his fingers through hers. 

“Are you saying that we can’t do the show because we made Sandy a guy?” asked Peter. 

“There are copyright issues, you see,” said Davis. He adjusted his glasses. 

“Mrs. Rodriguez got permission,” MJ said. “But some asshole complained that we made an American classic gay, and now we can’t do it?” 

“Please watch your language --,” 

“This is New York City! We’re supposed to be better than this bullshit!” 

“Final warning,” said Davis, all layers of civility blown away. “You will not be performing the show and that’s that.” 

Peter couldn’t remember ever seeing Mary Jane so angry. Fun, flirty MJ. Nearly boiling with rage. 

“Homophobes aren’t the only ones who can make waves,” Mary Jane said at last and she turned and left the room. 

Peter leveled his eyes on Principal Asshole. 

“Is that all you wanted,” said Peter, “ _ sir _ ?” 

He tacked the word on like some might say  _ motherfucker.  _

“Yes, yes, Mr. Parker.” Davis cleared his throat again. Maybe the candy had gotten stuck and he was slowly choking to death. “I had a feeling Ms. Watson might not take the news so pleasantly.” 

“Yeah, it really pisses her off when she works an entire semester for something and then has it ripped away from her.” 

“Do you know about our scholarship opportunities?” 

Peter blinked. “Huh?” 

Davis took off his glasses and fogged the lenses with his breath. “Every year Midtown High presents two exemplary, financially disadvantaged students with full ride scholarships to Empire State University. One for athletics and one for academics.” He pulled out a cloth to rub the glasses clean. 

“And?” 

“And you, Mr. Parker, are the frontrunner for the academic scholarship.” 

Peter’s breath left him. 

A fullride scholarship to ESU. 

Him.

Peter Parker. 

Aunt May would freak.

“I’d simply hate to see you lose out on that opportunity if Ms. Watson were to do something rash. It reflect poorly on for such a dear friend to step out of line.” 

All at once, Peter’s world refocused. 

“You blackmailing me?” he asked. 

“Not at all. Simply . . . providing incentive to keep up your good work.” Davis perched the glasses back on his nose. “Have a good day, Mr. Parker.” 

Peter took the dismissal for what it was; he left the principal’s office and slowly made his way back to the theater. He didn’t know how to face MJ after this. What to tell her. If he should tell her anything. Facing the Lizard sounded like a better bet on making it out alive.

But he never hid, not from the Lizard and not from Mary Jane, so he pushed open the theater doors.

The performance had stopped. The lights were up. Everyone was seated in the audience and Mary Jane was on stage, crying. 

Mary Jane never cried. 

“Thank you, guys,” she was saying. “For going on this journey with me. It’s been really, really special.” 

“I’m gonna slash that douchebag’s tires,” said Felicia. 

“I think the best thing we can do is write into the Bugle. Let them know what’s going on at school. We can’t let them silence us.” 

It was strange to hear her so composed and so passionate at once after what she’d just gone through. Ready to take on the world’s injustice. Ready to crush anyone who stood in her way. She sounded like Gwen, Peter thought.  Or maybe she wasn’t really that different from Gwen in the first place. 

“Come on, guys, let’s hear it for our director!” Betty said and they all started cheering. Peter’s hands stayed at his side. 

Everyone passed him as they filtered out of the theatre. Randy clapped him on the back. Betty hugged him. Even Johnny lingered in the doorway. 

“You okay?” he asked. “What did Davis want with you?”

Peter couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t say what Davis offered. What he was considering. Not to someone as good and kind and generous as Johnny.

“I hated this stupid show,” Peter said instead. “But, god, this sucks. It just -- sucks. It fucking sucks!”

Johnny smiled sadly and beautifully and like something out of Peter’s dreams. “Tell me about it, stud.” 

Peter didn’t think it was possible to want to kiss someone as much as he wanted to kiss Johnny in that moment. Johnny ducked his head like he knew, like he could it feel it radiating off of Peter in waves, and left him there. It was for the best probably. Peter didn’t need Johnny and his goodness and smile clouding his judgment. Making him want to be just as good when it wasn’t possible. When he had his future to think about.

Up on stage, Harry was holding MJ while she cried into his shoulder. Peter walked down to the lip of the stage. 

“Your place or mine?” Peter asked. 

“Yours, Pete,” said Harry. “Always yours.”

* * *

 

Gwen Stacy was sitting in his bedroom. 

“Harry texted me,” she said. “And your aunt let me in. I hope that’s okay.” 

Peter glanced sideways at Mary Jane. He loved Gwen of course, but he wasn’t the one in some sort of Taylor/Kanye feud with her (Harry and MJ spent a very extensive afternoon last year explaining the origins of this feud even though he told them, multiple time, that he just did not care). 

Mary Jane shrugged, but she stayed on the opposite side of the room from Gwen. 

“I heard about your show, MJ. I’m really sorry.” 

“Ha. Don’t act like you give a shit now.” Gwen downcast her eyes. MJ blew out a long breath. “Sorry. I’m really angry.”

“Of course you are,” said Gwen understandingly, her voice choked. 

Peter and Harry grimaced at each other. The only thing worse than Gwen and MJ fighting was Gwen and MJ fighting and crying. So they stood together in silence, the four of them, no one sure how to make this right. 

“I worked really hard,” said MJ at last. She dug her fists into her eyes. “Really, really hard.

“Dude, we know,” Harry said. 

“And I think did a good job, right? Even though Peter can’t sing?” 

“You did a great job,” said Peter. “I’m hopeless.” 

“And I know I only did it so people would show up and buy tickets, but I think my idea was kind of good.” 

“You’re a genius,” said Gwen. “I only I wish I could have seen it.” 

Mary Jane met Gwen’s eyes. “Me too.” 

“You’re going to the media, though, right?” asked Gwen. 

Peter’s stomach sank. 

“Duh. Everyone’s gonna know we go to a school run by bigots. We’ll make state news.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Peter was saying before he’d even made the decision to speak. They all stared at him. “Go to the news. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“And why not?” asked Gwen with the same face she made when Peter implied that biology was a more important branch of scientific study than astronomy. 

“Because -- think about your future, MJ. You don’t want colleges to be pulling up this garbage on Google. It’ll just make you look like you’re difficult and frivolous.”  

Before Gwen made a noise in the back of her throat, before Harry whispered, “Pete,” before even MJ turned to him with the kind of mad gaze a tiger might have before pouncing on a wounded gazelle, Peter knew he fucked up.

“I have to go,” she said, “before I hear one more word out of your mouth and punch you in the face.” 

“Mary Jane --,” 

“Do you care about my future at all? Or are you just trying to make sure that I’m stuck not doing anything with my life like you?” 

Peter opened his mouth and closed it again. Gwen buried her face in her hands. Harry’s sunglasses were fixed firmly in place. Like a comet hurtling its way towards earth, the Peter-MJ explosion was coming fast. Shield your eyes. 

“That’s not fair,” Peter said at last. “You have options. If this one opportunity doesn’t work out, you can go wherever you want -- do whatever you want. I’m needed of here.” 

“Of course you are. I burn all my bridges and I run away, right? You’re a big, strong man. People  _ need  _ you. Not like frivolous, difficult Mary Jane.” 

“You have no idea what I’m trying to say.” 

“I do, Peter,” said Mary Jane. “We’ve grown up together. I’m your fucking next door neighbor. Whatever it is you think I don’t know, I know.” 

Her eyes had hardened into obsidian. Peter could break his entire heart and crack all his secrets open on their unforgiving surface, and suddenly he suspected he already had.

“We’ve all got secrets. We’ve all got responsibilities.” As MJ spoke, it was like the fight melted out of her. Now she just seemed tired and sad, two things MJ took it upon herself to never seem. “So don’t act like yours make you better than anyone else.” 

And, with nothing left to say, MJ left.

“Is anyone else super lost right now?” asked Harry when the silence got to be too much. “Like, I literally have no idea what just happened.” 

“Why would you say those things?” asked Gwen. “She needs people who believe in her!” 

Of course, the last time Gwen and MJ talked they were shouting at each other and now he’s the bad guy. Girls and their solidarity. 

“I should go after her,” mumbled Peter. “I should make sure she’s safe.” 

“She lives next door,” said Harry. 

“But what if she didn’t go home?” 

“Okay, Peter Paranoia, where else would she go?” 

Peter scrubbed a hand down his face. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll go after her,” Harry said gently. “Since I don’t think  _ I’ve  _ done anything to piss Mary Jane off lately.” 

Peter half-smiled at him. “I’d trust MJ alone at night more than I’d trust you.” 

“You have one personal driver, and people think you can’t handle yourself.” Harry huffed a sigh. “Fine. Gwen will be my escort to the place next door. She’ll put on an accent and fake mustache and MJ won’t even know it’s her.” 

Peter hugged Harry hard. And Harry, for his credit, didn’t hesitate before hugging Peter back fiercely. 

“It’s gonna be okay, bud,” whispered Harry. “You know no one can stay mad at those gorgeous brown eyes of your for long.” 

Peter kissed his ear. He never appreciated Harry enough, not ever. A boy with no warmth or love in his home had no right to be as warm and loving as he was, but he continued to peek through the cracks of his life like some sort of sunglass-wearing daisy.

When Harry and Gwen left, Peter crawled onto his bed. He thought about putting on the mask, but then figured New York could live without him for the night. Let Daredevil pull his fucking weight for once.

A knock on the door. Peter glanced down from the ceiling and saw Aunt May standing there in a robe and slippers.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said. “They sounded upset.”

“It’s just me now.” 

Aunt May regarded him. “You mind?” 

Peter shrugged and she climbed into bed next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and he leaned his cheek against her hair. She reached up and pulled the chain -- the door slammed shut, the lights turned off, and the stars glowed. 

“You gotta make me one of these. It’s very handy.” 

“Anything for you, Aunt May.” 

“Sweet talker.” Aunt May snuggled into him and he felt a bit like a little boy again, if only he weren’t so much bigger than her now. “I remember when you and your Uncle Ben put up those stars. You were on his shoulders, because you needed to make the constellations. ‘It can’t be a random arrangement, Uncle Ben.’ That’s what you’d say. And then you’d tell me you were going to study the stars one day.” 

“Astronomy is useless,” said Peter. “For dreamers and crazy people. There’s too much to study down here as it is.” 

“You told me I’d see you on TV when you went to space.” 

“It’s too cold in space.” 

“Maybe you need someone to bring the stars to you.” 

Peter snorted into Aunt May’s hair. She still smelled like her citrus shampoo. 

“I’m a selfish person,” Peter murmured. 

“Oh, please.” 

“No, hear me out. You and Uncle Ben did your best, but you can’t change a tiger’s stripes, got it? Nothing to feel bad about. Maybe it was my parents who made me like this. Or maybe it’s just who I am. Either way, I was long gone before I got to you.” 

He stared at the stars above him, thinking about the past few months. About MJ’s tiger eyes and kissing Gwen in the moonlight and letting Johnny think he didn’t matter. Agreeing to “date” Johnny at all when the guy just needed a friend and then ruining any chance at friendship the minute he felt something real. Maybe that was why he fooled around with all the girls who looked at him twice -- because they were beautiful and smart and funny and they wanted him, and wasn’t it better to feel something good with someone who knew he couldn’t give himself to them, even if they didn’t know why? It didn’t matter if that good feeling was fleeting. It didn’t matter if Gwen cried over him or if MJ and Felicia were so sick of his shit that they’d rather screw each other or if Ned Leeds really did transfer to a boarding school in Germany after Betty kissed Peter and he kissed her back. He never promised them anything. 

But that was it, wasn’t it? He never considered who he’d hurt. Not when kissed someone pretty even though they both had people in the wings. Not when he let a dangerous man run out of a TV studio with money and a gun. Not when he put on the mask in the first place. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him fucking responsible.

“ _ Being with you makes whatever war’s been inside me my whole life go quiet _ ,” Peter told Johnny. And Johnny was nowhere to be found. Now all he could hear was the war.

“Why am I so reckless with the people I love?” Peter asked the stars. 

It was Aunt May who answered. “Because you love so recklessly, I suppose.”

“I hurt people.” 

“You make mistakes. But you’re like your Uncle Ben. Never the same mistake twice.” She patted his chest and sat up. He always thought she looked beautiful, but under Peter and Ben’s stars, she shone. “I know whatever it is you think you’ve done, you’ll fight tooth and nail to fix it. Because you know that nothing in this world matters more than how we treat people.” 

As Aunt May made her way to the doorway, Peter considered. Nothing mattered more than how we treat people: not sex, school, romance, or grand dreams of an unattainable future. Was that true? Was being decent to others really all it came down to? 

The answer, of course, was yes.

Without love -- love of his family, his friends, his incredible city where he’d found them all -- even Spider-Man meant nothing. Aunt May had taught him that, as surely as Uncle Ben had taught him to take some damn responsibility. And, as always, he was one step one behind.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late to remember. 

“Aunt May,” Peter said and she stopped in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway’s light, “I think I have an idea. You in?” 

“You don’t even have to ask,” said Aunt May. The door closed behind her.

* * *

 

Peter met the former cast of Midtown High’s production of  _ Grease  _ in the theater. Everyone was free due to tech week, so it was just a matter of getting Betty to contact everyone (only Harry, Johnny, Betty, and Felicia were in Peter’s contacts) and making them all shut up since they were talking as if they hadn’t seen each other in a year as opposed to a day. 

“Hey everyone! Be quiet! For five minutes please! Jeez, I’ve met bank robbers with more respect than you.” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

The whole room hushed. Betty saluted. 

But now Peter was standing on stage with 15 people staring at him. MJ always made this look so easy, but he felt inexplicably jittery like his spidey sense was going haywire and he had no idea where the danger was coming from. 

It was just him up here. No mask. No script. Just Peter Parker. 

He found himself seeking out Johnny. Johnny smiled, encouraging and kind after everything. Because Johnny had seen beneath the mask from the very beginning. 

Showtime. 

“This show was so important to Mary Jane,” Peter said. “She’d never done anything like it before, you know? I mean, she acts and dances but she’s never, y’know, called the shots. This was all her. And I know it means the world to her that you guys were there to help. She cares so damn much about every person here.” Except Quentin Beck. And maybe Sally Avril. And she probably had never talked to Lance Bannon before in her life. But still. “This play’s important to her, and so it’s important to me. And I think -- god, I know this is a long shot but I think --,” 

“You want us to do a performance,” said Felicia, who was braiding Cindy Moon’s hair. “Without pay.” 

“We weren’t getting paid anyway,” said Cindy. 

“Will we get in trouble?” asked Liz. “Maybe some of us are well-acquainted with detention --,” Liz jolted and Peter had a feeling Felicia had kicked the back of her seat. She tossed her a scowl. “But _ I  _ can’t have anything on my permanent record, not with cheerleading and college.” 

Peter was about to tell Liz, in so many words, to get the hell over it, but Flash Thompson beat him to the punch. 

“It was my dad who complained,” said Flash. Everyone turned to look at him, sitting in his football jersey next to Liz. His eyes were trained on the frayed knees of his jeans. “He found an extra poster I brought home and he called the school, I guess. The minute I graduate, man, I’m out of that house. But for now.” He curled his hand over Liz’s and lifted his eyes to Peter’s. “Fuck him and every goddamn person like him.”

It was quiet. Liz leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Well, I’m in on one condition,” said Johnny. “I get to wear leather.”

* * *

 

At lunchtime, Peter met Betty and Aunt May in the hallway. 

“Sound system is equipped,” said Betty. “And Mrs. Parker has the best camera that the Midtown High journalism team can afford which, admittedly, is not much, but it’ll do the job. How are things on your end?” 

“Everyone’s in places,” said Peter. “I’m wearing this.”

A white t-shirt and a black leather jacket and his hair gelled in some ridiculous pompadour. 

“Great. I bribed a cafeteria worker to spill today’s baked beans on the floor and lock the door so everyone should be pretty tied up there.” 

“You’re a miracle worker, Betty Brant.”

“Nah, I’m a journalist. And a secretary to boot.” 

She winked at him and made her way to check on the proceedings in the caf. Peter watched Aunt May fumble with her camera. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. 

Aunt pointed the camera in his direction, little red light blinking. “Thanks for letting me.” 

Peter took a deep breath and pushed open the caf door. He immediately spotted Gwen and MJ sitting at their usual table.  

He could still turn back. He could always just turn back.  

Or he could make like Spider-Man and punch his fear in the jaw.

Peter walked over to Gwen and MJ’s table and leapt onto it. A hush fell around the caf.

“Helllooo Midtown!” he said, channeling his inner Mary Jane. “For one lunch and one lunch only, Midtown High’s drama club, football team, cheerleading squad, journalism team, science department, and a couple of friendless loners present to you: a song selection from Mary Jane Watson’s  _ Grease _ !” 

An electric chord from the speakers hummed out. Never let MJ say he didn’t do anything for her.

“Why, this show is automatic!” he said and swiveled his hips. “It’s systematic! It’s hydromatic! Why it’s . . . Greased Lightning!” 

Kids in leather jackets flooded the caf. Flash Thompson sang,  _ “We’ll get some overhead lifters and some four barrel quads, oh yeah . . .”  _

In high school movies, musical numbers were either super glamorous or social suicide, but honestly, the reality was somewhere in between. People were texting and rolling their eyes and more people were pretty much going with it -- high school sucked as is. Anything to liven up the day.

As the boys struck a pose, a few people cheered and the football guys dragged down Flash to pat him on the back. The girls and Johnny came running in, donned in puffy pink jackets, for Glory Grant to bring the house down on “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee.” Peter plopped himself next to Mary Jane. He grinned at the look on her face. 

“Are you even for real right now?” she asked. 

“Shh. I’m watching the show.” 

The song ended and Wyatt materialized through the group to serenade Liz with “Beauty School Dropout.” He wasn’t even  _ that  _ great a singer, but no one really seemed to care and Peter saw Johnny, settled across the room, watching in absolute adoration. Whatever. It’s not like it’s hard for an 18-year-old to have perfect bone structure and flawless skin and a kind smile and over 6 feet of pure muscle. They’re practically a dime a dozen in Oklahoma. 

Then Peter jumped up again to sing “Summer Nights,” one of his few solos that hadn’t been revoked. He could hear Johnny at the other end of the room but he didn’t even look at him. No distractions. This was about Mary Jane. 

Sally Avril led a fun cheer routine (Harry was in it, fucking hilarious) and Glory brought the room to tears with her big song. And then Randy walked in, plucking at a guitar and everyone’s hearts melted. 

“He’s amazing,” whispered Mary Jane. “I’m so fucking good at this.” 

“ _ Those magic changes,”  _ Randy crooned to some poor girl with braces. “ _ My heart arranges a melody that’s never the same, a melody that’s callin’ your name, that begs you please come back to me . . . Please return to me . . .” _

Peter couldn’t help it any longer. He looked at Johnny -- and found that Johnny was already looking at him. They were surrounded by music and dance and chaos and Peter only saw Johnny.  And then Johnny smiled, of course he smiled, why wouldn’t he smile? He was a goddamn sun of a person. And Peter, a lost asteroid locked into orbit, couldn’t help but grin back. 

_ “Don’t go away again, oh make them play again the music that I want to hear as once again you whisper in my ear . . .”  _

The next song was “Born to Hand Jive,” this big awesome number where Felicia got to publicly grind on him and Cindy Moon got to yell at them for it and they all loved every minute. And then Quentin Beck serenaded that girl whose name was currently escaping Peter. And then Johnny walked out into the center of the room. It was like the lights dimmed. Like the music stopped. 

_ “Guess mine is not the first heart broken, my eyes are not the first to cry . . .”  _

Johnny met Peter’s eyes dead on. 

_ “I’m not the first to know there’s just no getting over you, I’m hopelessly devoted to you . . .” _

“Holy shit,” MJ whispered. 

“He’s singing to you, right?” hissed Gwen. “That’s what’s happening right now?” 

“That’s totally what’s happening.” 

“Holy shit.”

“Both of you shut up!” Peter hissed.

“I feel like I’m living in  _ Glee _ ,” MJ just had to say before they dutifully fell silent. 

Johnny sang right at him, as Sandy’s head pleaded fool forget him and her heart said don’t let go. As he opened himself and told the world who he was. 

_ “But now there’s nowhere to hide! _ ” 

No masks. There never had been. Not between them. 

The song ended and Johnny blinked as the crowd roared. By that point, even the naysayers were pretty much letting themselves enjoy it. Peter had no idea what Betty was doing to keep the principal busy, but he was grateful, if only for this moment. 

Joy Mercado and her band of pink ladies sultrily serenaded the men around school. And then the music began for Peter’s big song. 

“Break a leg!” MJ whispered as if she’d been a part of this the whole time. Peter guessed she had. 

His eyes searched the room for where Johnny had gone. The caf door swung open -- and there stood Johnny, donned in tight leather pants and a snug black shirt, his hair a little wild and his lips a little wet. Peter couldn’t breathe. He thought this might be what dying felt like. 

“Sing!” Mary Jane was hissing from his feet. “Goddammit, Pete, sing!” 

“ _ You better shape up!”  _ Peter practically yelled. Which was not his line at all.  _ “It’s electrifying!”  _

“Oh my god,” said Gwen. Mary Jane buried her face in her hands.

Johnny smirked and seamlessly launched into his solo, twisting and turning his hips and oh my god, was Peter hard, right here, wearing a leather jacket, in front of the entire junior and senior classes? Was this really happening right now? 

At least it cleared up a few things. Like if Peter still wasn’t sure that’d be down to suck a guy’s dick. He was pretty down. Extraordinarily down. Especially if that meant said guy would be sucking his dick in return (not at the same time -- actually, why not at the same time?) and then waking up next to him and moving into his apartment and adopting a dog with him and having 12 kids.

“ _ If you’re filled with affection,”  _ Johnny sang breathily, “ _ you’re too shy to convey . . .”  _

Johnny glanced at Peter’s crotch and raised an eyebrow. Whatever, dude. This wasn’t his proudest moment. 

“ _ Meditate in my direction, feel your way  . . .”  _

Peter chased him around the cafeteria as the ensemble chorused, “ _ You’re the one that I want! _ ” And it was kind of fun, actually. Chasing Johnny. Singing with him. Messing around. Staring at his ass. He was having a really, really good time. 

So when they both ended up on a lunch table in the middle of the room, singing at each other and beaming, Peter felt like he just had this, he only had now, and he couldn’t bear to give it up. One hand found its way to Johnny’s hip and the other to Johnny’s jaw and they were kissing. It was like sinking into a hot tub. Like holding your breath and closing your eyes as you submerged yourself. The sounds were muffled and his lips were wet and his heartbeat was loud in his ears. Johnny’s name echoed with every beat. 

He wasn’t sure who pulled away, but it must have been Johnny, because why would Peter ever pull away? His eyes were wide, his eyes were blue, Peter thought he could drown in them. Peter thought he was already dead at the bottom of the sea.

Johnny opened his mouth and said, “We go together like rama lama lama, ka dinga da dinga dong.” 

Peter blinked. “What?” 

But then Johnny jumped away to go dance with Glory as Flash threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders. 

Oh, right. There was a whole 'nother song to go. 

Peter danced through it in a haze and, right as the last note rung out, the bell to end lunch rang. There was no way lunch could have lasted that long -- he didn’t want to know what Betty had to do. He just hoped she was still enrolled here. 

Only a couple people applauded as benches scraped the linoleum floors and lunches clattered into trash bins. This was high school, after all. It waited for no one.

Someone tugged on Peter’s shirt. He turned to see MJ’s bright hair right before she catapulted herself into his arms. 

“You did this, didn't you?” she asked. “You absolute loser.” 

“Aunt May filmed it. So any schools you want to send it to can know what you inspire, what you can make. I couldn’t -- it was the only way I knew how --,” 

“You’re already forgiven.” MJ pulled back to beam at him. “That was some kiss, though.” 

“Just following your vision.” 

“Sure.” She squeezed him one last time. “You wanna ditch? Just you and me, like the good ol’ days.” 

He supposed that after the stunt he just pulled, it didn’t matter what he did. He wasn’t getting the scholarship. He wasn’t going to school. He had a life ahead of him of Spider-Man and Aunt May and Mary Jane. He could do whatever he wanted. 

He couldn’t help it: he looked around for Johnny, just once. But Johnny was gone.  

“Let’s get outta here,” Peter told MJ.

* * *

 

It was the night of the Winter Formal Dance and Peter was wearing a tux. 

He wasn’t big on school dances. He’d been to Prom once, as MJ’s date, and Homecoming once, as Gwen’s date, but mostly thought dances were stupid -- you have to hang out with all the same people from school you hate, but now you’re paying to do it. Plus, they never even held Winter Formal in winter, always trying to beat the snow. They should call it Late Autumn Formal.  

Yet Peter was in his living room, wearing Uncle Ben’s old tux, and he didn’t feel terribly annoyed about it. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe the sentimentality was getting to him. Loser. 

“Smile!” Aunt May said. 

“Say Midtown!” said Anna May. 

“Midtown!” Peter, Harry, MJ, and Gwen chorused with matching grins. No dates tonight. Just the four of them together, the way it should be.

“Harry, won’t you lose the glasses for one night?” asked Aunt May. 

“You wouldn’t ask Jesus to put down his cross,” Harry said seriously.

“I suppose not,” agreed Aunt May. 

Aunt May and Anna May hugged them all. Aunt May looked like she might be crying, but Peter sternly told her, “It’s a dance, not war.” 

“You just look so handsome,” said Aunt May, sniffing into a handkerchief. “I wish your Uncle Ben could see you.” 

“Me too,” said Peter. “I’m glad you’re here though.” 

She kissed his forehead. 

The limo Harry rented waited at the curb. Traffic was gonna suck, but Harry insisted he never went anywhere in formal wear unless it was in a limo.  

Underneath their coats, MJ wore a tight sequined number in a deep emerald, her curls hanging free and bright against it, and Gwen wore a flowing pale blue with an updo that made her look like a princess. 

“Harr, how did we get the most beautiful girls in New York to agree to go this shindig with us?” 

“New York?” asked MJ. “Try America.”

“More like the world,” said Gwen. 

“The galaxy.”

“The universe!” 

“Every universe!” 

“They are beautiful,” Harry agreed. “I guess that makes up for their personalities.” 

Gwen licked her finger and stuck it in his ear. Some princess. 

The limo pulled up at a dimly lit apartment complex only a few blocks from Peter and MJ’s. Peter furrowed his brow. 

“Did I mention we’re making a few stops?” asked Harry. “It’s a big limo.” 

A door opened at a first floor apartment and out came Flash, Liz, and Sally Avril. As Sally and Liz ran towards the limo, Peter noticed Flash locking the door behind him. And then he ran down to meet them. 

Flash’s curls were gelled back and his suit was a little bit tight in the shoulders, but he didn’t look too shabby. Liz and Sally wore bouncing, sparkly dresses that were probably too short for regulations. Peter patted Harry on the back to remind him to breathe. 

As the girls squealed over each other, Flash leaned over to say, “You look great, Pete.” 

“Thanks. I didn’t know you live in Forest Hills.” 

“I guess there’s a lot you don’t about me,” Flash said as Liz pulled out her phone to snap a selfie of the two of them making kissy faces. 

Huh. Guess so. 

Their next stop was at Betty’s apartment. Betty, Glory Grant, Joy Mercado, Cindy Moon, and Randy Robertson came running out, and Felicia Hardy, of all people, strolled behind them in a sleek tuxedo.

Peter stared at Harry with wide eyes. 

“It’s a big limo!” he insisted. 

“Everyone here looks scrumptious,” Felicia said, climbing inside. She ran a nail along Flash’s arm, making his cheeks match his hair.

“Hey,” said Cindy, swatting at her. “You’re taken.” 

“I have the eye of a hunter, babe.” But Felicia draped her arm around Cindy’s shoulders.

They made a final stop. Peter recognized the apartment complex immediately. 

“Are you serious,” said Peter. 

“What was I supposed to do?” Harry threw his hands up in the air. “Not invite him?” 

“You hate him!” 

“He’s grown on me!” 

Johnny appeared in the door to the lobby, backlit by light. For a moment, Peter couldn’t breathe. And then Wyatt stepped up next to him and Peter wanted to put a fist through the window. 

They walked over together, laughing, and then slid into what little space was left. Johnny was wearing a black suit emblazoned with gold roses because of course he was. How else do you stand out amongst a sea of black suits at a high school dance? Who on earth could be brave enough to wear something so eye-catching when everyone knew the guys were supposed to look at pretty girls and not draw attention to themselves?

Johnny Storm. That’s who.

_ “You look nice,”  _ Johnny mouthed at him. And then he turned to whisper something to Wyatt. 

The limo continued on course.

“Is this just me or is it really awkward?” Joy Mercado asked. The chiffon of her dress took up about three seats. “Are we friends now? The group of us? Have I even spoke to you?” She pointed at Wyatt. “And if I haven’t, I should definitely start.” 

“Dibs!” yelled Glory and Wyatt’s smile was easy and handsome as ever.

“How did I end up here?” Peter mumbled to no one in particular.

MJ grinned. “Face it, Tiger. You hit the friend jackpot.”

* * *

 

The theme was “Winter Wonderland,” which was not very original in Peter’s opinion, but the decorating was kind of nice. Liz’s dad’s dinner club, where the dance was being hosted, sparkled with blue and silver lights and fake snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Of course they looked nothing like real snowflakes which, Peter thought he should remind everyone, they would see in about a week and were sure to make everyone’s life a pain in the ass. 

Peter remembered why he didn’t go to these things. So far, the dance proved to be boring as hell. The only interesting part had been when the girl with the glasses whose name he couldn’t remember marched up to him with an incredibly good-looking kid who looked about ready to pop the stitches on his yellow button up and said, “This is my date. His name is Luke. He’s from Harlem. And he’s way hotter than you will ever be.” 

Luke winked at him as she dragged him onto the dance floor. 

“What’s that girl’s name?” Peter asked. “I feel like it starts with a J.” 

Harry didn’t answer. Peter followed his gaze.

“Just ask her to dance,” Peter told him. They were sitting at one of the tables pushed to the edge of the ballroom. Harry hadn’t stopped staring at Liz since the limo, watching her bop around with Sally and Flash to one bubblegum song after another.

“Are you crazy?” asked Harry. “I can’t just ask Liz Allan to dance.” 

“And why not?” 

“Because she’s Liz Allan! And I’m --,” 

“The heir to the Osborn fortune. You guys are a match made in socialite heaven.” 

“I’m not you, Pete,” said Harry. 

“No kidding. I’m not popular  _ or  _ rich.” 

“Yeah, but you like yourself.” 

“What are you talking about, Harr? There are a million things I’d change about myself if I could.” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not the same. You ask out the girls you like even when you know they’re out of your league and if they say yes, you don’t think they did it on a dare. You barely study and you get good grades and even if you get a C, it’s not a big deal. You kiss hot guys in front of the whole school because who gives a fuck, right? Pete, you just . . . you belong in your own skin. I’ve never felt like I belong in mine.”

Peter couldn’t help staring. He knew Harry had insecurities -- how could he not with such an asshole of a dad? -- but the guy always had a joke on hand and a crazy romantic scheme in mind. He always seemed . . . happy. 

Just like Peter always seemed confident. 

Peter reached across the table and took off Harry’s sunglasses. Watery eyes blinked back at him. 

“If you think I believe in myself,” Peter said, “you wouldn’t begin to believe how much I believe in you.” 

Harry looked out at Liz in her too short dress, spinning under Sally’s arm. He was on the edge of something and Peter wanted him to jump. Leap without looking back. Get the girl, or don’t. But jump all the same. 

His spidey sense exploded. Peter shot up just as Johnny ran straight into his arms.

“Johnny,” Peter said, gripping Johnny’s shoulders. “Honey, what’s wrong?” 

“It’s Gwen,” said Johnny and Peter’s heart turned to stone. 

“What’s going on? What happened to Gwen? Johnny, what happened to Gwen?” 

“She’s on the roof. She’s acting -- come on.” 

Johnny grabbed Peter’s hand but Peter was already running to the stairway door. He sensed Harry on his heels. Peter wished he could use his powers, but with Harry there, he had to keep running. The stairs felt miles long. 

They burst out onto the roof. MJ shone under the moonlight, shivering without her coat. And there was Gwen, standing on the roof’s ledge, her dress whipping in the wind like some sort of avenging angel. 

“Shit,” Harry said. “Should I get a chaperone?” 

“Doing something like this would get her suspended,” said Johnny. “I think she’d rather die.” 

They drew closer. 

“Babe,” Mary Jane was saying, slow and calm, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to be,” she hiccuped, “spontaneous.” 

MJ cast a glance over her shoulder at the boys. “Have you guys had the punch?” They shook their heads and she sighed. “She’s had about four cups. I don’t think it’s punch.” 

“Gwendy,” said Peter, “why don’t you climb down and --,” 

“I’m being spontaneous!” 

“Okay, okay!” He grimaced at his friends. “Any other ideas?” 

“This isn’t spontaneous,” Mary Jane said. “This is dangerous.” 

“Same thing, right?” Gwen stretched her arms out to her sides, head thrown back. Her hairdo wasn’t princessy anymore. She looked a bit more like a witch. Someone who locked the princess away. “I just want to be like  _ you _ , MJ. Beautiful and fun -- and I’m having so much fun! Look at how much fun I’m having!” 

“She doesn’t look like she’s having that much fun,” Harry muttered and Peter elbowed him hard.

“Baby, if you want to be like me, you gotta dance on tabletops, not rooftops.” 

“The bigger the stick, the bigger the venue,” Gwen said with a little hiccup. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Because I have such a huge stick up my ass!” 

“Oh, shit,” said Johnny. 

MJ stared at Gwen and Peter prayed she wouldn’t fucking laugh. Not with Gwen’s life on the line. 

“Are you for real?” said MJ. “Is this about what I said  _ months _ ago? Gwen, darling, I have so much fun with you. I was just pissed you wouldn’t be in my stupid musical!” 

Gwen shook her head. Every sudden movement she made had Peter tensing. “It’s not stupid. It’s lovely and brilliant and amazing. And it was for  _ college _ .”

“I don’t give a shit about college, Gwen,” said MJ and she sounded extremely tired. 

Gwen blinked. “What?” 

“I tried to care because you care. And I like having things in common with you. But I just don’t give a shit.” 

“I’m sorry if I put too much pressure on you,” Gwen said and she was crying now. And swaying dangerously. “I just wanted you to be everything you want to be. Because you already are everything I want to be.” 

MJ smiled softly up at her. “Right back at you, blue eyes.” 

Gwen laughed a little and she made a movement as if to step off the ledge. But her heel caught in the skirt of her dress and then she was stumbling backward, suspended in a moment on the precipice that existed between flying and falling. 

Peter acted on instinct. He shot out a line of webbing that caught Gwen at the hip and yanked her forward. She went spinning off the ledge and into MJ’s arms.  

Mary Jane met Peter’s gaze over Gwen’s shoulder. She nodded at him, confirming what Peter had guessed: MJ knew. They’d have to talk about it probably, but for now, it was enough to know that Gwen was okay. 

Peter turned to Harry -- and found that Harry was covering his eyes with his hands. 

Peter touched his shoulder and Harry peeked through his fingers. “Is Gwen dead?” 

“Not tonight, Harold,” said Peter. “Not tonight.” 

MJ and Harry led Gwen back inside. Johnny caught Peter’s elbow. 

“You can’t help it, can you?” asked Johnny. “Being a hero?” 

“What am I supposed to do, let my friends die?” 

“Like that matters. If she was your friend or just some kid you met one night, you’d save her. ‘Cause that’s what you do.” Johnny looked out at the steady lights of the city. “‘Cause you’re Spider-Man.” 

“Well,” said Peter, “I am.” 

Johnny nodded and then went back into the building. Peter only hesitated a moment before following. 

No one seemed to have noticed they were gone. From the looks of it, something much more important was going on: the crowning of the Winter Formal King and Queen. 

Peter didn’t know why it was a big deal. If it was obvious to  _ him _ who was going to win, it should be obvious to everyone. 

And sure enough: “Your Winter Formal Queen is . . . Liz Allan!” 

Peter rolled his eyes, but it didn’t give him quite the satisfaction it usually did. Liz was kind of cool, honestly. And she belonged in a tiara. Now was just a matter of waiting for Flash to join her, as he always did. 

“And your Winter Formal King is . . . Johnny Storm!” 

Peter’s jaw dropped. Deafening cheers filled the air as Johnny, bashful grin in place, accepted his sash and crown. Even Flash was clapping and smiling, like this was expected and normal. 

Maybe it was. Maybe while Peter was busy falling so hard it felt like he’d been pushed, Johnny was busy getting popular. Maybe their experiment had actually worked.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Liz was saying into the microphone. Everyone quieted down. “I know this is the part where my king and I are supposed to dance and I know we look so totally good together. But, um. Well. Senior year has been awesome so far. Like, I was in a musical? What? And I made some really cool friends. And I learned a lot, like that love doesn’t have boundaries. And sometimes Sandy from  _ Grease  _ is a guy!” The room laughed and Johnny ducked his head. “Sandy’s awesome and badass on his own, but the thing is, Danny makes him better, you know? And they, like, really love each other even if they let other stuff get in the way.” 

Oh, god. 

“So I guess what I’m saying is that, if Sandy can be a guy, why can’t the Winter Formal Queen?” 

Oh, GOD. 

“Peter Parker . . . please come accept your crown!” 

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh -- 

Someone shoved him from behind and the next thing he knew, Peter was walking through a crowd of his peers, all cheering and clapping him on the back, until he was face to face with Liz Allan. 

“Liz,” he said. “I really can’t accept this.” 

“Shush.” She fixed the plastic tiara on his head. “Prom’s more important anyway.” She turned back to the mic. “Peter and Johnny. Please lead us in the next dance.” 

The music started playing. Peter looked at Johnny. Johnny looked back. Peter took his hand and led him to the dance floor. 

They came together like magnets and began to spin. 

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, “I promise not to make Wingfoot too jealous.” 

That made Johnny meet his eyes. “What?”

“Wyatt. You’re here with him tonight.” 

“Yeah . . .”

“Cool. I respect that.” 

Johnny was giving him a weird look. “You know Wyatt’s dating a college student, right?”

“Um. No I did not.” 

“Yeah, she wants to go to law school.” Johnny rolled his eyes, but there was no malice behind it. “You would know this if you ever paid attention to anything Wyatt says at lunch.” 

“I was always --” Peter blew a breath out of his mouth. “Distracted?” 

Johnny smirked a little. “Sure.” His eyes drifted. “Hey, look at that.” 

Peter looked -- and saw Harry doing a shimmy around Liz as she threw her head back laughing. Peter grinned. That was his boy. As they spun, he noticed MJ and Gwen dancing together, their eyes trained on him. They shot matching thumbs up his way and Peter tried to spin Johnny around before he noticed, but he noticed. 

“So I take it that whole situation’s over?” Johnny asked. 

“My part in it. What they do now is up to them. It’s time for the students to become the masters. They’re free to fool around with whoever they want. Without me.”

“You’re so brave,” Johnny said with a laugh.

He glanced at Johnny and then away. “Honestly I think it was over for a long time. I was just scared, I guess. Of moving on. Being someone new. The last couple years, it’s like all I’ve been is new. It’s hard to figure out who you are when you wake up one day and you’re this whole new person in this whole new world.” 

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but even the people who weren’t bit by radioactive insects are going through that. It’s called high school.” 

“Not to be that guy, but spiders aren’t insects.” 

“Shut up and look over there.” 

Peter followed Johnny’s gaze to a table in the corner. Randy Robertson sat strumming a guitar (how was it that guys who played guitar always found guitars wherever they went?) and the only other person at the table was Flash Thompson. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that his girlfriend was bumping and grinding with Harry Osborn. He simply listened as Randy sang. 

Peter met’s Johnny’s eyes. “You don’t think . . .” 

Johnny shrugged helplessly. They burst out laughing. 

He missed this. He missed how easy laughing was when he was with him. 

It was only then that the lyrics of the song playing made their way into Peter’s consciousness. 

_ “I bless the rains down in Africa --,”  _

And Peter could only laugh harder. 

“What is it?” asked Johnny. Like he wanted to be in on the joke. 

“Nothing. Everything. The song.” 

“Could be worse. Could have been ‘Dancing Queen.’” 

Peter scrunched up his face. Johnny chewed on his lip with downcast eyes. 

Peter took a breath. And he jumped. 

“You wanna get out of here? I feel like we’ve spent too much time in front of crowds as it is.” 

“Yes,” said Johnny. 

And just like that, he jumped to meet him.

* * *

 

Without the adrenaline that came from Gwen almost plummeting to her death, the roof was intensely cold and the mist in the air hung heavy, threatening rain. 

“I hate the cold,” said Johnny. “Like, a lot. It’s funny because I still have nightmares about fire but the cold sucks balls.” 

“Oh, is that what the cold does?” Peter asked, rubbing his hands over Johnny’s arms.

“Yeah, wise guy. The cold sucks balls and uses too much teeth.” 

Peter hated how cute Johnny was. He could stay out in the cold with him forever. 

“What were you saying earlier? About me being Spider-Man?” 

“It was stupid.” 

Peter lifted Johnny’s chin to force him to look in his eyes. “Tell me.” 

The barest hint of Johnny’s breath released in a fog. 

“When you saved me in the Baxter Building -- you did it without thinking. You showed me your biggest secret in the world. Just so that you could save me. And I guess I got to thinking that that’s why you agreed to even do this whole dumb faking dating thing. ‘Cause you really, really like saving people. You’re Spider-Man.” Johnny smiled, a little sad. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

Peter dropped his hand. Johnny didn’t drop his gaze. 

“I do like saving people. I more than like it -- I need it.” 

“I know, and that’s --,” 

“Hey. I listed to you, you listen to me, okay?” 

Johnny nodded. 

“When I first said yes to whatever it was you were offering me, maybe I saw you as someone who needed saving. Or maybe I thought you were kinda funny and kinda ballsy and I liked kissing you. So yeah, that all could have been why I said yes. But you wanna know why I stayed? Why I starred in a musical and went to Liz Allan’s Halloween party and brought your sister flowers and got so mad every time you looked at Wyatt Wingfoot that I had to go bury my fist in a mugger’s face? You wanna know why I kissed you in front of the whole school more times than decent? You wanna know why I did that?” 

Peter waited for an answer. He needed to know they were on the same page. Tonight, he needed them to be on the same page. 

“Yes,” Johnny whispered, his eyes wide and clear. 

That was enough for Peter.

“‘Cause I’m in love with you, dummy,” Peter said and then he kissed Johnny. And maybe the universe wasn’t all bad, maybe someone up there really was looking out for him, because Johnny, no mask, no script, no audience, kissed him back. 

The clouds opened and rain poured down around them. Peter and Johnny broke apart, blinking up at the sky. 

“Do you think the rains in New York City are blessed?” Johnny asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Peter. “Every last one of them.” 

And he kissed Johnny again and again as together they let the rain soak them down to their very bones.

* * *

 

EPILOGUE: SIX MONTHS LATER

* * *

 

Peter somehow thought graduation would feel different. It mostly felt like any other day. Except his cap was itchy and and he was sweating way too much under his gown. 

“If they make out on stage, I’ll barf,” Harry whispered, nodding at Gwen and MJ who were seated on the other side of Flash and Liz. Their heads were bent together and they kept whispering and giggling. “I mean, I’ll be sort of turned on, but I’ll also barf. It’ll be a really confusing experience for me.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Peter. “They’re not-wink-dating-wink.”  

“And no being turned on by other girls kissing,” said Liz. “Only my kissing.” 

“Always and forever, baby.” 

They kissed. Which seemed to make Flash, who was sitting in between them, extremely uncomfortable. 

“We could make out on stage,” said Johnny from Peter’s other side. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yep. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.” 

“True. They probably miss it.” 

“Their lives have been empty.” 

“It’s a public service, practically.”

“We could get a tax break.” 

“Please don’t make out on stage,” said Wyatt diplomatically from Johnny’s other side. 

_ Prude _ , Peter thought with a roll of his eyes. 

Principal Davis finished his speech about the ESU scholarships. Two giant checks were brought on stage. Peter’s heart pained at the sight of them. 

“For athletics, the ESU scholarship recipient is . . . Flash Thompson!” 

Not that surprising, given that Flash carried both the football and basketball teams each season. But Peter still hooted and thumped Flash on the back as he shakily stood and made his way to Principal Davis. 

“For academics, the ESU scholarship recipient is . . .” 

Peter held his breath. 

“Elizabeth Brant!”

Peter let out the breath. Johnny rested his head on his shoulder. 

Betty was sitting right in front of Peter, unmoving. Maybe she was shocked. She had, after all, basically staged a coup at the school earlier that year but Peter supposed there were only so many smart, poor kids you could teach lessons until you just ran into idiots who no one would believe could get a scholarship. 

“Go,” Peter whispered in her ear. She stood and cast him a grateful glance before making her way to the stage. 

After Betty and Flash hugged and accepted their scholarships, the name-reading commenced. It was all a bit of a blur really. Ages of waiting and one moment of getting your picture taken and then you’re graduated. A new man. The same old guy you always were. 

Peter just kept smiling at Johnny throughout it all. Even when he was complaining, he was smiling at Johnny. Because Johnny was always smiling back. 

Eventually, they had all graduated. With their tassels switched and everything. Gwen and MJ didn’t kiss on stage, and neither did Peter and Johnny, but Felicia did plant one on Cindy Moon before grabbing her diploma, tossing her gown, and running out of the nearest door with a middle finger held high. Everyone was cheering wildly at this final act of rebellion and even the teachers seemed vaguely impressed. 

“Can she do that?” Johnny asked. 

“I think she just did,” said Peter, wondering at how lucky he was to ever cross paths with Felicia Hardy and wondering if he ever would again. 

As the chaos quieted, the valedictorian was called to the stage for one final speech. 

“I know that we think we’re immortal.” Gwen’s voice quivered a little but she stared out at them all with a soft smile and strong eyes. Peter’s heart was near bursting with pride, but it was nothing to how Mary Jane was looking right then: like Gwen was the sun and moon and stars all wrapped up in a girl. “We’re supposed to feel that way, we’re graduating. The future is, and should be, bright, but like our brief four years in high school, what makes life valuable is that it doesn’t last forever. What makes it precious is that it ends . . .” 

Apparently Gwen’s wish for them was to become hope. Peter didn’t quite know what that meant. 

He loved it anyway.

* * *

 

“I have some good news and bad news,” Johnny told him when they were alone in Peter’s room. Their mission had been to grab paper plates and bring them back to MJ’s place for the party (apparently Anna May’s migraines were clearing up). “Don’t get distracted,” she said and they had deliberately gotten very distracted. 

“Sexy good news and bad news?” Peter asked, running his finger over Johnny’s collar bone. 

“Depends on what you find sexy.” 

“Tentacles?” 

Johnny propped himself on his elbow. “Really?” 

Peter shrugged. “I think having a bunch of arms might be cool.” He ran his nose along Johnny’s jaw. “The better to touch you with.” 

“Okay, we’ll revisit that. But first --,”

Johnny grabbed an envelope from his discarded jacket. He thrust it at Peter, who raised an eyebrow. 

“Open it!” Johnny insisted. 

So Peter did. He slipped the thick, expensive-looking paper from the envelope and unfolded it. He read: 

_ Dear Mr. Parker,  _

_ Congratulations! Due to your academic excellence, upstanding character, and commitment to the pursuit of knowledge in the sciences, the Future Foundation would like to award you with a full ride scholarship to Empire State University as well as access to the program of your choosing in the Future Foundation. The Future Foundation’s programs are as follows:  _

Peter’s eyes shot up. 

“Don’t freak out,” Johnny said. “It’s not charity. The Future Foundation is a real thing and Reed wants to get the scholarship program up and running. You wouldn’t be able to attend FF classes immediately, of course, because the Baxter Building isn’t fully functioning yet but --,” 

Peter kissed him. When he pulled back, Johnny said, “You’re not freaking out?” 

“No, I am. In a good way. Holy shit. I’m going to ESU. Holy shit!” Peter bound from his bed. Before he knew it, he was hanging upside down from the ceiling. 

Johnny beamed up at him. “You’re happy.” 

“Of course I’m happy! You --,” he kissed Johnny, “make me --,” and again, “the happiest man --,” and again, “alive!” He flipped off the ceiling, tackling Johnny to the bed. 

They kept kissing, until Peter remembered the other half of the deal. He propped himself up. “Bad news?” 

Johnny’s smile faded. “I’m leaving.” 

Peter felt his skin turn ice cold. “You’re leaving me?” 

“No, no, no.” They both sat up, backs against the headboard. “I mean, I am leaving you, but not you specifically. I’m just leaving. I might be gone for a while. Until Baxter’s finished. The fire was hard on my family, and now that I’m graduated . . .” He shrugged. “We just want to get away.” 

Peter sighed. “Where are you going?” 

At last, Johnny began to smile again. He reached up to pull the chain. The door closed, the lights went out, the stars glowed. He tilted his head back to stare at them. Peter only watched Johnny. 

“There,” Johnny said. “Somewhere up there.”

“Your family’s a little bit crazy,” said Peter. 

“A little bit,” Johnny agreed. 

“How are you even gonna get somewhere up there? Do you have a secret rocket ship hidden away?” 

“There’s a lot of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ with Reed.” Johnny turned on his side to look at Peter. “I would have asked you to come, but the semester might be started by the time we get back. And . . . I didn’t think you’d come anyway.” 

Peter thought about Aunt May. His friends. New York. 

Maybe Johnny still needed to find his place in the universe. But Peter knew exactly where he belonged. 

“I’m not asking you to wait for me --,” 

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll web you to this bed and then you’ll never leave.” 

“Your webbing dissolves in two hours.”

“I’ll keep making more. I’ll hire people to make it for me so I can have my wicked way with you.” 

Johnny nestled his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. 

“When do you leave?” Peter asked. 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

“And when do you think Gwen will barge in here, demanding to know where the paper plates are?” 

“Five minutes.” 

“Then we better make the most of it.” And once Peter’s wicked way had begun, he heard no complaints from Johnny.

* * *

 

EPILOGUE II: SIX MORE MONTHS LATER

* * *

 

Peter’s fingers stilled on his keyboard. All the letters seemed to blur into one black mass. He didn’t think the word “quantum” had any meaning left. 

His eyes drifted to his window, where he could make out the top of the Baxter Building rising above everything else. 

There was a knock on his door. Peter turned to see Harry, wearing Chanel sunglasses. 

“Please tell me we’re not doing the glasses thing again,” said Peter. “I barely survived the first time.”

“Ha ha, hilarious.” Harry pushed his sunglasses on to his head. “I’m gonna meet up with Liz, Flash, and Gwemj for coffee or whatever. Can the paper wait?” 

Peter stretched out his neck. “I really gotta finish this. Text me where you guys are and maybe I’ll catch you later though.” 

“Sure thing. Work smarter, not harder, Pete!” Harry called as he left the apartment. 

“Weirdo,” Peter mumbled. He forced himself to type more words. He just needed to finish this page, and then he could go hang out with his friends. Or put on a mask and beat up Manhattan shitheads. Whichever sounded more relaxing in the moment. 

At long last, he typed the closing sentence. He didn’t even bother with proofreading, emailing the paper right to the professor. Who the fuck cared?

The doorbell rang. Peter got up and stretched his arms above his head as he walked to the front door, wondering if Harry forgot his key. 

He pulled open the door. 

And there stood Johnny Storm.

“Hey, Pete,” said Johnny and he smiled. Peter had pictures of him, of course he did, but he had forgotten, somehow, the force of that smile. “I know it’s been a while. But before you yell at me, I just need to show you something. Real quick.” 

Johnny held out his hand and for a moment Peter thought he wanted him to take it. But then he whispered, “Flame on,” and snapped his fingers -- and in the palm of his hand, a tiny flame flickered. 

“The words are kind of silly, I know,” said Johnny, and the fire cast shadows onto his face. He looked older, more angular. It had only been six months. They had been six long fucking months. “But they keep me focused.” 

Peter couldn’t stop staring at the fire. No, that wasn’t true. He couldn’t stop staring at Johnny’s face in the firelight.

“So . . . I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . A lot’s changed. I’m different than who I used to be. But I still want you. And I’m hoping you want me like this.” 

The flame flickered out. 

“Or you can slam the door in my face. Whatever. But I had to see you. To show you who I am now. To ask you . . . to love me for who I am now. Please.” 

Peter stared at Johnny. Johnny stared back.

“Say something?” asked Johnny, his voice cracking. “I’m laying it all on the line here, Pete.”

_ Maybe you need someone to bring the stars to you. _

“Sorry,” said Peter, his every nerve alive with something that wasn't spidey sense at all. “It’s just that I don’t know whether to make a hot joke or a flaming joke first.” 

And as Johnny began to smile, Peter grabbed his still fire-warm hand and pulled him through the doorway, leaving only the sound of their mingled laughter echoing in the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come tell me whether Grease 2 was good on [tumblr](http://bipeteparker.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Also here's the cast list of this hypothetical Grease performance: 
> 
> Danny — Peter  
> Sandy — Johnny  
> Kenickie — Flash  
> Rizzo — Glory  
> Doody — Randy  
> Frenchy — Liz  
> Marty — Joy  
> Jan — Jessica Jones  
> Patty Simcox — Sally  
> Cha Cha — Felicia  
> Sonny — Lance  
> Miss Lynch — Cindy  
> Eugene — Harry  
> Teen Angel — Wyatt  
> Vince Fontaine — Lance again  
> Roger (he moons the audience) — Quentin Beck


End file.
